CIHM 
Microfiche 
Series 
(l\/ionog  raphe) 


ICMH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographies) 


Canadlaii  Instituw  for  Historical  Microraproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  da  microraproduetiont  hiMorlqiias 


©1995 


TMnnical  and  BiMograpMc  Nom  /  Nam  ndimqim  «  MfeUotnpkiqMi 


TIM  liuniuu  hn  Mumpud  to  ebiaui  tht  boi  ocifinil 
espy  a»ail<M*  io>  liUnini.  Fmouo  a<  thit  copy  ■riiidi 
may  b«  biMn«raphicaHy  uniqiM.  whidi  may  alur  any 
ol  dM  imagu  in  tht  raptodtiction.  or  which  may 
ii«nificandv  dianat  Om  uumI  mathsd  of  filmin«,  an 


L'lnftiuii  a  microfilm^  la  maillaur  axamplaira  qy'il 
lui  a  at*  ponibto  da  «a  pracunf .  Lat  details  da  cat 
axanplaira  qui  fdnl  payt4tra  imiquai  du  point  da  vuo 
biblioyaphiqua.  qui  payaant  modifia'  una  imaga 
rapraduita,  ou  qui  pauvam  axigar  una  modification 


0 


Colourad  covari/ 
Couvartura  lla  coulaur 

Conandamatid/ 
Counnura  andammataa 


□  Conn  (attofad  and/or  laminalad/ 
CouMrnira  mtauraa  at/ou  palliculaa 


Du 


Coaar  titia  mining/ 

titia  da  ceuMftufa  manqua 


□  Catound  mapt/ 
Cartas  gaograpliiquai  an  aoulaur 

I — ~|  Cotoufad  ink  (i.a.  othar  than  Mua  or  black)/ 
b(l]  Encra  da  coulaur  (ij.aytr*  qua  Mauaouneiral 

SCokMiiad  plaiH  and/or  illuttratiom/ 
Planchas  al/ou  illuttratiom  an  coulaur 


D 


Sound  with  other  malarial/ 
Ralia  a«ac  d'autfai  documana 

Tight  binding  may  cauM  ihadowi  or  diitortion 
along  inurior  margin/ 

U  laliura  larraa  paut  cauaar  i>i  I'ombr   Mdala 
dtnanian  la  long  da  la  marga  intariaura 


□  Blank  laanas  addad  during  raatoration  may  appear 
widiin  iha  taxt  Whananr  poniMa.  thaia  han 
baan  omiitad  from  filming/ 
II M  paut  qua  cartainat  pagaa  bianchat  aioutaaa 
km  d'una  raiuuration  apparamant  dam  la  WMta, 
mail,  lonqua  cala  atait  poniWa.  cat  pagaa  n'oni 
pasataf 


Colourad  pagac/ 


□  fagn  ranorad  and/or  laminalad/ 
Pages  lanauiiai  at/ou  palliBuliai 

0^gss  discoloured,  stained  or  foaad/ 
Pagss  dacotoraes,  tachaiaas  ou  piquan 

□  Pages  datachad/ 
Pages  dMaahaas 

HShoiMhrough/ 
Tramporonea    ' 

□  Quality  of  print  wrias/ 
Oualita  inigala  da  I'imprawion 

□  Continuous  pagination/ 
Pagmatioa  continue 


D 


Includes  index(es)/ 
Comprandun  (das) 


Tide  on  header  taken  from:/ 
Le  litre  da  ran-ltte  ptmient: 


□  Tide  pege  of  issue/ 
I 


1  hga  de  litre  de  la  liwraison 


of  issue/ 

depart  de  la  liaraisan 


El 


Additional  cemmenu:/  Pages  nholly  obscured  by 

Commenuim  lupplemeniaires:  (>«"<»>'•  'MSe. 


r~~]  Ceplion 
I I  Tilre  de 

I 1  Mailhaad/ 

L__l  Genirique  (piriodiquas)  de  le  liareison 

tissues  have  been  refilaed  to  ensure  the  beat 


This  item  is  filmed  et  the  reduction  relio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  f  ilme  au  laua  de  reduction  indique  cideitous. 


10X 

UX 

lax 

SX 

~ 

»X 

XX 

L 

J 

^^^ 

17X 

^■^"^ 

1CX 

2ax 

24X 

2IX 

32X 

Th«  copy  filmad  h«r*  has  baan  raproducad  thanki 
to  tha  ganaroaitv  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'axamplaira  film*  fut  raproduit  grtca  t  la 
gtnirosit*  da: 

Blbliotheque  nationals  du  Ctuiada 


Tha  imaga*  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  baat  quality 
ponibla  conaidaring  tha  condition  and  laglbiiity 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  Icaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  apocificationa. 


Laa  imagai  suivantaa  ont  ttt  raproduita*  avac  la 
plus  grand  toin.  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  naitat*  da  I'axamplaira  fllmt.  at  an 
conf  ormit4  avac  laa  conditiona  du  contrat  da 
filmaga. 


Original  eopiaa  in  printod  papar  eovan  ara  filmad 
baginning  with  tiM  front  eovar  and  anding  on 
tha  iaat  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatralad  impraa- 
1  ion.  or  tha  bacli  covar  whan  approprlata.  All 
othar  original  eopiaa  ara  filmad  baginning  on  tha 
firat  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  Impraa- 
aion,  and  anding  on  tfw  iaat  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illuatratad  impraaaion. 


Laa  axamplairaa  originaux  dont  la  couvartura  an 
papiar  aat  imprimta  aont  filmte  an  commancant 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  »n  tarminant  loit  par  la 
darniira  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'impraaaion  ou  d'illuatration,  aoit  par  la  tacond 
plat,  aalon  la  eaa.  Toua  laa  autrot  axamplairaa 
originaux  tont  film4a  an  commsncant  par  la 
pramitra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'impraaaion  ou  d'illuatration  at  an  tarminant  par 
la  damiira  paga  qui  comporta  una  taila 
amprainta. 


Tha  Iaat  racordad  frama  on  aach  microfleha 
ahall  contain  tha  aymbol  — » (moaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  aymbol  ▼  Imaaning  "END"), 
whichavar  appiiaa. 

Mapa.  plataa.  charu.  ate.  may  ba  filmad  at 
diffarant  raduction  ratioa.  Thoaa  too  larga  to  ba 
antiraly  includad  in  ono  axpoaura  ara  filmad 
baginning  In  tha  uppar  laft  hand  eornar.  laft  to 
right  and  top  to  bonom.  aa  many  framaa  aa 
raquirad.  Tha  following  diagrama  illuatrata  tha 
matlrad: 


Un  daa  aymbolaa  auivanta  ipparaltra  lur  la 
darniira  imaga  da  chaqua  microfiche.  lalon  la 
eaa:  la  tymboia  -'»■  aignifia  "A  SUIVRE".  la 
aymbola  ▼  aignifia  "FIN". 

Laa  cartaa.  planchaa.  tabiaaux.  ate.  pauvant  ttra 
filmto  i  daa  taux  da  reduction  diffirants. 
Loraqua  la  documant  aat  trap  grand  pour  itra 
raproduit  an  un  aaul  clicha.  il  aat  film*  t  partir 
da  I'angia  aup^riaur  gaucha.  da  gaucha  A  droita. 
at  da  haul  an  baa.  an  pranant  la  nombra 
d'Imagaa  nicaaaaira.  Laa  diagrammaa  tuivanta 
illuatrant  la  m*thoda. 


1  2  3 


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(A^  -      nd  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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Songs  by  the  Wayside 


WILLIAM  J.  FISCHER 


|<\aRTI  et  VeRITATIjTl 


BOSTON 

RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

THE  GORHAM  PRESS 
1903 


?4^ 


?^^ 


Copyright.  1903,  Ijy  WiLLlAH  J.  FISCHER. 
All  RijKhti  RcMfvad. 


PrlntMl  at 
THE  GORHAM  PRB8S, 

BOSTON. 


DEDICATION 

To  his  dear  mother  and  father,  on  whose  par- 
ent knee  he  heard  many  a  tender,  love-inspired 
song  in  the  long  ago,  this  book  of  verse  is  in- 
scribed by  the  author — out  of  a  love,  that  is  all 
gratitude. 

London,  Canada,  June  i,  1903. 


"If  any  thought  of  mine,  as  sung  or  told. 
Has  ever  given  delight  or  consolation, 

Ye  have  repaid  me  back  a  thousand- fold. 
By  every  friendly  sign  and  salutation. 

Thanks  for  the  sympathies  that  ye  have  shoim! 

Thanks  for  each  kindly  word,  each  silent  token, 
That  teaches  me,  when  seeming  most  alone. 

Friends  are  around  us,  though  no  word  be 
'  spoken. 

Kind  messages,  that  pass  from  land  to  land; 

Kind  letters,  that  betray  the  heart's,  deep  his- 
tory. 
In  which  we  feel  the  pressure  of  a  hand — 

One  touch  of  tire — and  all  the  rest  is  mystery  I 

Therefore  I  hope,  as  no  unwelcome  guest. 
At  your  tvarm  fireside,  when  the  lamps  are 
lighted. 

To  have  my  place  reserved  among  the  rest, 
Nor  stand  as  one  unsought  and  uninvited." 

—Longfellow— "The  Seaside  And  The  Fire- 
side." 


FOREWORD 


Keats  desired  ten  years  (or  the  purpose  of 
sin^'ig  himself  into  immortality.  "Give  me  time 
to  develop",  is  the  cry  of  many  a  young  poet. 
And  time  is  required.  Few  really  great  works 
of  literature  are  produced  without  infinite  labor. 
The  poet  must  carve  his  gems  as  well  as  the 
lapidary.  He  must  shape  patiently  and  polish 
skillfully.  He  may  have  genius,  but  out  of  pa- 
tient toil  the  highest  excellence  is  born.  And  is 
it  not  Emerson  who  assures  us  that  "what's  ex- 
cellent, as  God  lives,  is  permanent"? 

The  poems  of  William  J.  Fischer  reveal  that  a 
new  man  is  about  to  arrive  in  the  field  of  Ameri- 
can letters.  It  is  not  contended  that  his  work  is 
perfect.  Now  and  then  discords  are  sounded; 
but  it  is  true  work,  nevertheless.  There  are  pas- 
sages of  exquisite  melody,  and,  through  it  all, 
rays  a  morning-light,  which  is  a  presage  of 
splendid  noon.  Grant  that  imperfections  exist, 
still  it  is  a  new  voice  singing.  Here  is  a  poet 
whose  work  is  not  a  mere  echo  of  that  of  great- 
er poets.  He  is  not  an  imitator  of  Swinburne  or 
Tennyson.  Here  we  find  no  lines  reminding  us 
of  Poe,  Longfellow  or  Lanier.  His  voice  is  a 
young,  glad  voice,  yet  full  of  power  and  original- 
ity. Give  its  possessor  opportunity  to  develop 
it  and  the  result  will  be  a  new  American  singer 
worth  the  hearing.  No  one  can  read  this  little 
volumewithout  becoming  conscious  of  the  young 
poet's  promise. 

One  pledge  of  future  excellence  is  the  sym- 
metrical development  of  the  young  author  so  far 
as  he  has  grown  in  literary  stature.  Here  are 
songs  of  nature  and  songs  of  home.    There  are 


FOREWORD 

love-songrs  and  heart-songs  and  cradle-son« 
and  songs  of  gladness  and  songs  of  wn     ?^e 

as  the  medley  of  hfe  is  written.     If  the  tru«J 
pc^ts  are  they  who  sound  every  chord.  tSeLor 
F  scher  ,s  a  true  poet.    More  commendable  tl^n 
all,  perhaps,  is  the  healthy  optimism  which  oer 
vades  h.s  pages-the  faith,  the  h^^  the  charity 

kfn'nT'  f"^!'""'''"^  toward  God.  and  the  inclu-' 
sion  of  all  beauty,  which  leads  toward  the  higher 

D  esen".  hJ''  T'^'"  J'  ^'''*'''  is  distinct  aZng 
present-day  American  poets,  and.  if  he  be  truf 
to  his  Ideals,  he  will  win  a  place  o  which  his  na 
tive  land  may  one  day  be  proud 

Chic,  go.  III.,  ,903.    ^''^'"■^'  J-  O'Mai-lev. 


CONTENTS 

P»gt. 

A  Song 8, 

A  Song  of  the  Hills go 

A  Thought gg 

Ambition  _, 

A  Summer  Morning gg 

A  Prayer  for  To-day 70 

A  November  Thought 78 

A  Faded  Picture ,- 

A  Toast g- 

A  May  Song -, 

An  Easter  Lily , . 

A  Twilight  Thought _[   ,- 

A  Canadian  Autumn ,g 

After  Parting "   ,g 

A  Christmas  Reverie .j 

A  Love  Song ._ 

A  Cradle  Song -- 

A  Morning  Song 20 

A  Kind  Word 21 

A  Song  o*  the  Sea ' . .  23 

An  Evening  Hymn  to  the  Virgin 24 

A  Sailor's  Love  Lilt 2- 

A  Lyric  of  Autumn 2g 

A  Song  of  Summer 28 

A  Song  of  the  End 71 

A  Sunset  Wish "   "    "  ' 

Antonio:  A  Tale  of  the  Street. ...........  42 

7 


CONTENTS 

At  Six  O'clock ^■*^- 

A  Madrigal ^3 

At  Midnight ^ 

By  the  Wayside '.'.'.' ' °* 

Dream-Faces  . .  '* 

Easter  [[[ °S 

Easter  Song ^ 

Eventide .........'.' ^ 

Faces  in  the  Street. ^ 

Fellowship   ^ 

Gentle  Words  .      ^' 

Good  Night .' ; ; 35 

Heart  Song °S 

Heim— Lied  ** 

Hope '.'.v.'.'.'.'.". ^* 

In  a  Dream  37 

In  the  Library. ^ 

In  the  Qoister. .......'. |* 

In  the  Cathedral '' 3 

Invocation   ...  ^' 

June  ^ 

LeoXHI  ...    ^3 

Life   ■■■■ 32 

Love's  Angel ^3 

Love's  Birth ^ 

Mater  Dolorosa f° 

Memory  . .  °S 

26 

8 


CONTENTS 

Page. 
Muiing  g. 

Nocturne   .j 

Nocturne  (jg 

November  ., 

O  Heart  of  Mine g, 

Old  Friends -q 

Quatrain 2g 

^'^*"'  '...'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.  33 

Requiem  Aetemam 30 

Song  of  Hope 6q 

Song  of  Absence j5 

Songs  of  Day jg 

Song  of  the  Evening  Breeze 29 

Sorrow ,- 

Sunrise   g^ 

The  Songs  of  Long  Ago 77 

Their  Departed  Priest 70 

To  Mother „ 

To  an  Italian  Madonna 25 

The  Consoling  Christ 60 

The  Dawn  -, 

The  Land  of  Dreams ,, 

To  Colette  ."!!!!.'.'  15 

The  Angelus ,_ 

The  Passing  of  Leo g. 

The  Poet's  Grave ,8 

Then  and  Now  ,0 

9 


CONTENTS 

Page. 

Two  GravM SO 

The  Song  of  the  Dying  Year 5a 

Three  Pictures  S3 

The  Angel  o<  Smiles 56 

The  Voice  ol  Winter S9 

The  Cry  of  Motherhood 77 

The  Deserted  School  House 33 

The  Old  Year  is  No  More 67 

The  Long  Ago 3i 

There  Shone  a  Star 31 

Two  Little  Sparkling  Eyes 44 

The  Old  Love 7° 

To  a  Spring  Robin 69 

The  Old  Year  is  No  More 67 

Unspoken  Words 33 

Visions  of  Childhood I3 

Voices  of  the  Midnight S^ 

While  Hope  Slept 57 

When  the  Night  Has  Come ^ 

Would  You? 40 


BY  THE  WAYSIDE. 

Look  up  and  the  skiei  are  cheerful  t 
Look  down  and  the  dim  shadows  fall 

About  life's  way, 

In  the  heat  of  day, 
When  there's  sunshine  above  for  all  I 

Our  lives  are  just  what  we  make  them, 
In  the  struggle  and  sweat  of  years; 

The  world  so  bright — 

In  misfortune's  light — 
We  spectacle  only  through  tears. 

It  wants  but  a  little  courage 

And  a  purpose,  so  strongly,  planned 

To  bravely  fight, 

Till  the  lonely  night 
Sulks  gloomily  over  the  land. 

There  are  loud  intonings  many. 
From  Niag'ras  of  deep  despair, 

But  sorrows  grow  dumb 

And  feelings  numb. 
In  the  peaceful  valleys  of  Prayer. 


IX 


VISIONS  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

Full  often,  in  the  dreamy  sunset's  glow, 
When  parting  shadows  purple  the  lone  hills. 
The  twilight's  harp,  with  mystic  music,  thrills 

And  wakes  my  soul  to  thoughts  of  long  ago. 

Bright  thoughts!    borne  onward  by  the  angel- 
wings 
Of  those  short  years,  between  this  now  and 

then. 
That  comfort   the  wild,  throbbing  hearts  of 
men. 
You  fill  my  life  with  Love's,  sweet  whisperings. 

And,  gladly,  do  I  sing  of  those  fond  days — 
The  jeweled  treasures  in  Life's,  sacred  shrine : 
They  tune  the  joy-strings  of  this  heart  of  mine. 

While  busy  winds  chant  vesper-hymns  of  praise. 

And,  in  the  soft,  gray  atmosphere  around, 
I  picture  all  the  scenes  of  that  brief  play — 
The  bright,  blue  sky — ^the  tender,  rose-strewn 
way 

And  two  small  feet,  kissing  the  dewy  ground. 

I  see  again  a  tittle,  winsome  face. 
The  golden  curls,  two,  dancing,  anxious  eyes 
Hiding  the  future  and  its  precious  prize 

In  their  blue  depths,  when  life  began  its  race. 

Ah,  dream-thoughts,  visions  I  Call  them  what  you 
Willi 
They  hold  for  me  an  endless  boon  of  joy, 
That  all  succeeding  years  can  ne'er  destroy. 

Visions  of  childhood  I  yea,  I  love  you  still. 


"WMi*  ■■mvp- 


THE  LAND  OF  DREAMS. 

In  drowsy  night,  long  after  the  lone  day 
Has  folded  up  its  silent,  crimson  wings 
In  seas  of  gold,  I  hear  the  whisperings 
Of  some  sweet  voice,  that  lures  my  thoughts 

away, 
Into  a  land,  blushing  with  rose  of  May, 
Where  joy,  enthroned,  tunes  her  harp's,  silver 

strings 
To  rhapsodies,  which  far  and  wide  she  flings. 
While  sad-faced  mem'ry  kneels  a-down  to  pray. 
Dear  land  of  Dreams!   'Tis  God  that  lights  thy 
face 
With  the  pure  sunshine  of  the  years  gone  by. 
And,  in  thy  smile,  a  radiance  fairly  beams. 

While,  to  Sleep's  pris'ner  in  thy  fond  embrace. 

Youth's  voices  glad  and  Love's,  sweet,  tender 

sigh  j  ^       : 

Recall,    so    bright,    Life's    morning's,    faded 

gleams. 


<  m 


1 


Tf 


SORROW. 

When  Sorrow  pale,  a  queen,  doth  reign. 
Within  the  heart's,  wild  citadel. 

The  bitter  word,  that  calls  forth  Pain, 
Falls  from  her  lips  we  know  full  well. 

And  yet  we  love  her,  through  the  days 
Of  wand'rin^  o'er  this  sin-stained  sod; 

'Tis  she,  who  lights  Love's,  burning  rays- 
'Tis  she,  who  turns  our  eyes  to  God. 


^ 


13 


.41 


AN  EASTER  ULY. 

She  erew  and  God's  smile  kissed  her  face 

And  filled  her  pure,  young  soul  with  grace; 

And  good  Saint  Anne— the  mother  fair— 

Upon  her  lips  a  gentle  prayer. 

Folded  her  child  in  sweet  embrace 

And,  when  night's  shadows  dulled  the  skies. 

Sang:  "Lily  mine!  Come,  close  thine  eyes! 

In  Bethle'm's  stall,  a  Lily  ^ows— 

It  smiles  upon  an  opening  Rose; 

And  shepherd-stars.  Night's,  high  peaks,  climb. 

And  angels  carol  forth  sublime. 

While  midnight  shadows,  silent,  stiU, 

Creep  soft  around  glad  Juda  s  hill. 

On  Calv'ry's  Cross— a  faded  Rose 
Its  blood-stained  petals  does  disclose 
And,  tear-kissed,  'neath  the  sacred  Cross, 
The  Lily  weeps— a  flower's  loss— 
And  mourns,  upon  its  tender  stem. 
Love's  Death!    The  Rose  of  Bethlehem! 

Good-Friday's  lights  so  mournful  burn 
But  with  the  Easter-gleams'  return 
They  fade,  the  shades  of  fear  and  gloom— 
A  dead  Rose  blushes  into  bloom  I 
A  Lily,  with  her  pure  soul  brave. 
Glows  sweet  beside  an  empty  gravel 


i 


14 


A  TWILIGHT  THOUGHT. 

The  church,  he  loved  so  well,  is  standing  yet. 
And  twilight  paints  her  faces  on  the  door; 

And  now  I  see  him.    Ah,  who  could  forget 
The  good,  old  priest— his  brow  soft  crowned 

With  locks  of  gray?    Who  could  forget  the  eyes, 
Sweet  raised  at  Mass,  in  glad  devotion  rare? 
He  taught  us  love,  and  stilled  our  souls',  deep 

And^soo  :  ed  the  wounds,  that  sin  left  bleeding 
there.  ,   ,      .      , 

And,  now,  in  yonder  grave-yard,  fast  he  sleeps 
With  those  fond  ones,  he  buned  through  the 
years 
Of  saintly  toil ;  the  spreading  willow  weeps. 

Upon  the  lone  cross,  bare,  her  dewy  tears. 
He  is  not  dead— though  his  pure  eyes  are  dim 
But  lives  in  hearts,  that  beat  in  prayer  for  him. 

TO  COLETTE! 

Red  are  the  roses,  she  wears  in  her  cheek, 
Red  are  the  soft  lips,  that  gladly  enclose 

White  pearly  teeth— the  pure  portals  of  prayer- 
Through  which  her  white  souls  expression 
sweet  flows. 

Bright  is  the  angel-look  in  her  dear  face, 
Happy  the  sunshine  gay  m  her  eyes  mild— 

O  there  is  nothing  in  all  the  wide  world 
Like  the  pure,  innocent  heart  of  a  childl 


»S 


A  CANADIAN  AUTUMN. 

The  wild  geese  wing  their  flight  across  the  sky, 
Filled  well  with  brooding  clouds,  so  dull  and 

gray; 
A  sullen  sadness  shades  the  face  of  day 

And,  mirrored  in  the  brook,  the  shadows  lie. 

The  murm'ring,  forest  pines  and  the  wild  cry 
Of  some  poor  bird — the  thirsty  blood  hound's 

prey- 
Make  Nature  lonely,  though  her  bright  dis- 
play 

Of  color  dazzles  man's,  aesthetic  eye. 

The  maple  trees  in  crimson,  yellow,  red. 
The  asters  and  the  princely  golden  rod. 

The  clust'ring  vines,  near  by  the  cottage  door, 
The  dying  willow,  bending  her  proud  head — 

All,  all,  so  meekly,  to  the  twilight  nod 
And,  lo!  the  woodman's  axe  resounds  no  more. 

AFTER  PARTING. 

The  wind  blows  cold  down  the  dark  lane  to-night 
And  here,  alone,  I  wonder  that  my  heart 
Should  beat  so  wildly,  for  when  I  did  part 

With  him,  my  poor,  old,  trembling  heart  felt  light 

And  gladly  hopeful.    Am  I  thinking  right? 
O  will  he  like  the  noisy,  troubled  mart 
And  will  the  city's,  red    rimes,  glaring,  smart 

His  white,  white  soul,  so  lily-like  and  bright  ? 

O  God!  I  wonder,  when  the  shadows  fall 
Will  he  forget  to  breathe  the  prayer,  I  taught 
His  chilr'iish  lips,  long,  long  ago,  when  naught 

But  joy  was  mine?    Nay,  he  will  surely  call 
Thee,   Lord,   to   father   him,   when   sin — ^be- 
fraught. 

And  I  will  mother  him  with  prayers — my  all  I 

l6 


THE  ANGELUS. 

Like  the  voice  of  angfel  stealing, 
All  its  sweetest  joy  revealing, 
Lot  to  me  thy  gentle  pealing 

Ever  sounds  sweet,  little  bell! 
For  thy  music,  drifting,  drifting. 
All  my  soul  to  heaven  lifting. 
Sounds  diviner, 
Rarer,  finer. 
Sweeter  far  than  words  can  tell. 

When  the  birds,  on  tree-tops  swinging, 
Greet  the  day,  their  matin  singing, 
Little  bell!  thou  too  art  ringing 

And  thy  song  doth  fill  the  air; 
It  dispells  all  pain  and  sadness, 
It  is  set  in  tones  of  gladness. 
Sweetly  stealing, 
Full  of  feeling. 
Breathing  soft  a  hymn  of  prayer. 

When  the  noon-day  sun  is  beaming. 
And  the  blue  skies  bright  are  gleaming. 
Kissed  by  sunbeams,  warmly  streaming. 

From  thy  belfry,  neath  the  sky, 
Whisp'ring  voice!  from  out  those  portals, 
Speakest  thou  to  weary  mortals, 
And  thy  greeting. 
Glad  and  fleeting, 
Leads  awhile  to  God  on  high. 

When  the  twilight  shades  are  blending 
With  the  sun's  rays,  fast  descending; 
When  the  dying  day  is  ending. 
Soft  in  prayer  we  bend  our  knee ; 


And  we  put  aside  our  sorrows, 
And  we  dream  of  glad  to-morrows, 

While  til-  pealing 

Bell,  revealing. 
Sounds  its  parting  melody. 

THE  POET'S  GRAVE. 


I':        I 


He  sleeps  alone,  where  softly  blows 

The  maple  and  the  willow. 
Upon  his  breast,  a  faded  rose. 

The  cold  earth  for  his  pillow. 
The  birds  of  spring  loud  chant  a  hymn 

With  voices  sadly  blended; 
He  sleeps  alone,  his  eyes  are  dim. 

His  song  of  life  is  ended. 

Love's  harp,  whereon  he  oft  did  play. 

Lies  coldly  on  his  bosom ; 
Yet  all  his  songs  of  one  fair  day. 

In  memory,  still  blossom. 
And,  though  no  more,  alas  I  he'll  tune 

His  heart-strings  to  vibration; 
They  linger,  like  the  breath  of  June — 

His  songs  of  animation. 

O  gentle  poet!   Hark  I  the  years 

Still  echo  thy  soft  numbers; 
We  greet  thee  but  our  anxious  tears 

May  wake  thee  in  thy  slumbers. 
Dream  on,  then  I  Rest  thy  weary  head. 

Upon  thy  lowly  pillow  I 
Thou  livest  yet — thou  art  not  dead. 

But  sleeping  'neath  the  willow. 


i8 


THEN  AND  NOW. 

Do  you  remember  that  fond  day, 
We  walked  the  meadows,  yoii  and  I, 

The  wild  rose  clinging  to  our  way 
No  sorrow-cloud  to  mar  the  sky  ? 

The  south  wind  stealing  scarcely  stirred 
The  willow,  bending  down  in  prayer. 

And,  in  that  early  hour,  we  heard 
Love's  whisper  on  the  dewy  air. 

How  still  we  stood  and,  turning,  gazed 
Into  the  Dawn,  sweet  crimsoned  o'er; 

The  jewels  of  the  morning  blazed, 
Our  hearts  beat  gladder  than  before. 

The  breeze  stole  lightly  o'er  the  lea, 
The  birds  were  singing  everywhere ; 

We  listened,  wrapped  in  ecstacy. 
Our  lives  were  young  and  youth  was  fair. 

Their  voices  thrilled  the  air  above 
With  clear  and  ringing  melodies ; 

They  sang  of  God's,  eternal  love — 
Of  Him,  Who  timed  life's,  eager  keys. 

Do  you  remember  that  fond  day. 
The  splendor  of  the  mountain-brow? 

Red  roses  bright  then  decked  our  way 
There  were  no  thorns  as  there  are  now. 


/(l 


J9 


A  MORNING  SONG. 

O  bird  of  the  morning!  I  hail  thy  glad  lay. 

That  steals  o'er  the  blossoming  trees ; 
It  stirs,  in  its  sweetness,  the  pulses  of  day 

And  echoes  and  dies  on  the  breeze. 
It  brings  to  my  thoughts,  the  sweet  notes  of  a 
song, 

That  float  on  the  wing  of  the  years 
And  heart-throbs,  within  me,  beat  sofUy  along, 

While  mem'ries  awake  the  glad  tears. 

O  loved  song  thy  music  is  sacred  to  me, 

Thy  gay-tones  of  peace  are  so  dear! 
They  ring  in  my  ear  their  fond  echo  of  glee 

Ar:l  banish  the  shade  of  a  fear. 
And  glad,  o'er  my  soul,  a  fond  message  of  prayer 

Thy  words  whisper,  sweetly  and  low — 
O  grant  they  may  linger,  remain  ever  there. 

Sweet  song  of  the  bright  long  ago! 

LOVE'S  BIRTH. 

In  darkness  deep,  a  sinful  world  lay  waiting. 
Her  eyes,  sad,  filled  with  longing  tears,  the 
while, 
But,  when  a  star  shone  in  far  Juda's  heaven. 
The  world  gave  birth  to  its  first,  Christmas 
smile. 

Within  a  stable,  cold  and  dark  and  lonely, 
The  Christ-Cliild  smiled  and  stilled   Hopes, 
deepest  fears. 
For  Love  lav  captive  in  that  strawy  Manger 
And  Ijovi  it  was,  that  dried  the  lone  worid's 
tears. 

ao 


^ 


^■1 


THE  LONG  AGO. 

Soft  in  the  twilight's,  gentle  glow, 
Thev  come,  the  uioughts  of  long  ago — 
Glad  thoughts,  by  mem'ry  borne  along 
Like  echoes  of  a  distant  song. 

Ah,  tender  thoughts  of  youthful  dreams 
And  life's,  glad,  sunny,  spring-time  gleams  t 
Ah,  tiioughts  of  love,  from  sorrow  free, 
What  fond  scenes  you  recall  to  me  I 

The  pictures  of  those  angel  years, 
I  see  them  through  a  mist  of  tears ; 
Ah,  they  are  bright— they  come  and  go— 
Those  pictures  of  the  long  ago. 

Those  pictures  of  the  long  ago ! 
Ah,  they  are  dear  1    I  love  them  sc^ 
The  joys  of  vouth — the  dreams  so  fair — 
The  throbbing  hearts— a  mother's  prayer. 


A  KIND  WORD. 

It  was  but  a  kind  word  spoken 
Yet  it  dried  an  old  man's  tears 

And  it  healed  a  heart,  sin-broken. 
And  it  stilled  the  pangs  of  years. 

It  was  but  a  kind  word  spoken. 

By  a  priest  in  gentle  tone, 
And  Owl's  angel  bore  the  token — 

A  strayed  soul    -to  Heaven's  throne. 


21 


THE  DESERTED  SCHOOLHOUSE. 

Again,  I  stood — the  iummer  sky  was  fair — 
Before  the  old  school,  on  the  grass-grown 

street; 
The  willows  green  were  bending  in  the  heat 
And  shook  their  boughs,  sad,  drooping  in  despair. 
The  sparrows  sat  and  nodded  on  the  stair, 
I  listened  for  the  sound  of  anxious  feet 
And  longed,  once  more,  loved  faces  dear  to 
greet— 
I  called  in  vain,  for  Silence,  queen,  reigned  there. 
Then,  in  a  dream,  1  saw  the  school  again — 

The  rosy  mom  full  bright  upon  her  face — 
And,  through  the  Past,  there  stole  sweet  mem'ry's 
call, 
I  heard  glad  shouts  and  laughter  fill  the 
plain ; 
The  gray-haired  master  stood  in  his  old  place, 
I  saw  my  youth — God's  smile  upon  it  all  I 

UNSPOKEN  WORDS. 

It  is  not  the  word,  that's  spoken, 

But  the  word,  that's  left  unsaid, 
That  may  soothe  the  heart-strings  broken, 

When  all  sense  of  hope  is  dead. 

O,  then,  wake  thy  soul  from  sadness ! 

Let  Love's  harp  vibrate  in  glee ! 
And  thy  lips,  dear,  red  with  gladness. 

Will  move  sweet,  in  sympathy. 


^'BSlijL— UKilL'.^ 


A  SONG  OF  THE  SEA. 

O  sea,  bounding  sea!  thy  fond  music  is  ringing, 
Thy  voices  vibrate  in  their  wave-symphony. 

And  bring  to  my  heart  such  a  wealth  of  sweet 
singing. 
That  fills  me  with  joy  and  a  feeling  of  glee. 

And  fain  would  I  be  a  glad  child  of  the  ocean 
And  feel,  on  my  lips,  the  cool  breath  of  thy 
waves, 
That  stir  in  their  hissing  and  frenzied,  wild  mo- 
tion 
The  fishes  at  play,  in  their  deep,  marine  caves. 

O  sea,  angry  seal  in  thy  fury  and  splashing. 
Thou  throwest  thy  wrath  on  the  shore's,  stony 
track 
And  sweetly  they  smile,  in  thy  turbulent  dashing. 
The  little,  pale  moonbeams,  that  ride  on  thy 
back. 

O  seal  dear  to  me  is  the  rush  of  thy  waters, 

The  noise  and  the  roar  of  thy  innermost  soul. 
And  dearer  yet,  still,  are  thy  snowy-clad  daugh- 
ters 
That  foam,  when  the  storm-cloud-voiced  thun- 
der does  roll. 


i 


O  sea,  bounding  seal  thy  gay  heart  wild  is  beat- 
ing. 
Thy  voices  vibrate  in  their  wave-symphony. 
And,  down  in  the  dale,  the  night-winds  are  re- 
peating 
The  song  of  thy  waters — in  tuned  minstrelsy. 

33 


AN  EVENING  HYMN  TO  THE  VIRGIN. 

So  iweet  and  low,  lo  sweet  kiid  low, 
Our  whiipered  word*  to  heaven  flow ; 
The  lait  sunbeam  has  kissed  the  Uue 
And  fast  the  night  conies  stealing  throuKh. 
And  Mother,  now,  on  bended  knee. 
We  raise  our  thoughts  awhile  to  thee ; 
Though  night  be  dark  we  do  not  fear. 
For  thou  art  near,  for  thou  art  near  I 

We  seem  to  feel  thy  presence  rare. 
Thy  song  comes  stealing  on  the  air ; 
Its  words  are  set  in  tones  of  love. 
Breathed  from  above,  breathed  from  above. 
Come,  then,  and  bless  thy  wayward  child, 
The  shades  of  night  loom  dark  and  wild 
And,  o'er  the  pathway,  shadows  throng — 
The  way  is  long,  the  way  is  long! 

And  now,  in  joy,  we  oflfer  sweet 
Our  deeds  to-day,  with  tove  replete. 
And  beg  thee,  through  the  weary  years, 
To  dry  our  tears,  to  dry  our  tears  i 
And,  O  fond  Mother,  while  we  sleep 
Pray  let  thy  love  a  vigil  keep 
And  guard  us  safe  till  morning's  light. 
For  it  is  nig^t,  for  it  is  night  f 


34 


A  SAILOR'S  LOVE-LILT. 

I  lintr  nie  a  umg  and  the  angry,  wild  tea 
Throws  iu  foamy,  white  hands  to  the  skies 

And,  while  the  waves  roar,  over  yonder,  bright 
shore. 
Comes  the  light  of  your  passion-worn  eyes. 

And,  deep  in  the  soul  of  the  heavens  that  roll. 
The  wild  thtmder  shrieks,  teeming  with  pain ; 

And,  sweet  o'er  the  lea,  in  love's,  glad  melody. 
Comes  the  sound  of  your  voice  once  again. 

The  storm  winds  loud  moan  and  I  stand  here 
alone. 
While  the  night  settles  fast  on  the  land ; 
And,  in  the  deep  gloom,  while  the  Ught-house 
guns  boom. 
Comes  the  tender,  soft  touch  of  your  hand. 

The  crimson  mom  bums  and  my  spirit-ship  tums 
And  my  heart's,  fairest  kingdom  I'll  seek 

To  greet  you,  my  queen — and,  now,  daintv  col- 
leen. 
Comes  the  gentle  caress  of  your  cheek. 

TO  AN  ITALIAN  MADONNA  I 

O  sad  tearful  eyes,  though  you  tell  me  of  sorrow, 
I  know  that  the  gleams  of  sweet  smiles  linger 
Ithere 
And  they  bring  me  hope,  as  I  dream  of  the  mor- 
row. 
And  awitke,  in  my  soul,  an  echo  of  prayer. 


ill 


as 


MEMORY. 

Mem'ry's  an  album,  precious  and  rare, 
Holds,  in  its  sweetness,  life's,  ebbing  prayer; 
Dear  are  its  pages,  wrinkled  and  worn. 
Many  the  fond  hopes,  glad,  that  adorn. 

Sweet,  o'er  its  pages,  oft  through  the  day, 
Glad,  blessed  moments  I  dream  away ; 
Each  leaf  is  sacred,  each  word  is  dear — 
Many  the  heart-aches  written  down  here. 

Old  are  its  pictures.    Some  of  them  glad. 
Some  full  of  color,  others  dull,  sad — 
Skies  of  a  summer,  brightened  by  years. 
Skies  of  an  autumn,  hidden  by  tears. 

Mem'ry's  an  album  of  the  dim  Past 

And  its  fond  pages  will  ever  last 

And,  when  in  fancy  my  young  heart  grieves. 

Thoughts  bright  are  fingers,  turning  the  leaves. 

A  LYRIC  OF  AUTUMN. 

When  the  voice  of  Autumn  whispers 

And  bids  the  birds  be  still. 
And  the  willows,  sad  and  weary, 

Stand  naked  on  the  hill : 
When  the  piping  breezes  greet  me 

And  whistle  'round  the  eaves. 
And  the  forest-land  lies  hidden 

In  a  wealth  of  tinted  leaves ; 
When  the  wild  winds  of  September 

Sweep  o'er  the  frosted  lea — 
'Tis  then,  heart,  I  remember 

And  send  a  thought  to  thee. 

26 


When  the  green  leaf  on  the  maple 

Turns  crimson  in  the  fall 
And  the  rose  of  summer's  fadei' 

Beside  the  garden  wall ; 
When  the  days  are  growing  sh  rtf  i 

And  clouds  of  gray  float  by, 
And  all  that  breaks  the  silence 

Is  a  lone,  crow's,  mournful  cry; 
When  the  wind  blows  cold  and  crisper 

Through  branches,  bare  and  free — 
Fond  heart  I  It  brings  a  whisper 

And  a  message,  sweet,  from  thee. 

When  the  last  song  bird  of  summer 

Has  sung  its  parting  strain. 
And  the  ^ass,  on  field  and  forest, 

Lies  withered  in  the  rain : 
When  the  last,  fair  flower  of  morning 

Sleeps  on  the  mountain's  breast 
And  the  chill  winds  of  September 

Chant  matins  sweet  of  rest ; 
When  the  shades  of  twilight  greet  me 

A-striding  'cross  the  lea — 
'Tis  then,  dear  heart  I    O  fond  one ! 

I  dream  Love's  dream  of  thee. 


:■ 


■i 


I 


LOVE'S  ANGEL. 


A  smile,  that  brightens  with  each  day, 
A  hand,  that  leads  me  on  my  way. 
Two  lips,  that  fold  me  in  their  prayer. 
When  ev'ning  spreads  its  wings  of  care- 
My  mother's — she's  love's  angel  fair. 


r 


A  SONG  OF  SUMMER. 

The  dew  lies  thick  upon  the  brake. 
The  robin's  song  is  ringing; 

I  hear  his  voice  steal  o'er  the  lake, 
And  O,  the  joy  'tis  bringing! 

He  calls  and  welcomes,  o'er  the  hills, 
The  daylight,  bright,  adorning. 

That  stoops  to  kiss  the  whisp'ring  rills; 
He  stirs  the  heart  of  morning. 

The  rosebud  opens  its  bright  eyes 

Upon  its  velvet  pillow ; 
The  meadow-lark,  'neath  opal  skies. 

Sings  matins  on  the  willow. 

The  crimson  gleam-,  with  color,  veil 
The  sun's  rays  in  their  blending, 

And  over  mountain,  field  and  dale 
The  warm  beams  are  descending. 

They  wake  the  liiy,  in  her  bed. 
Upon  the  clear  brook  sleeping 

And,  through  my  window,  curtained  yet. 
They're  peeping,  peeping,  peeping. 

QUATRAIN. 

Some  may  prize  diamonds,  treasures  fair. 

Unto  life's,  weary  end. 
And  never  own  that  jewel  rare — 

The  heart,  that's  in  a  friend. 


38 


SONG  OF  THE  EVENING  BREEZE. 

I  steal  o'er  the  hills,  in  the  twilight's  glow, 
When  the  shadows  are  kissing  the  blue, 
And  I  lift  my  voice,  while  I  blow  and  blow 
My  cooling  breath  o'er  the  meadows  below 
And,  the  leaves,  they  whisper  they  love  me  so. 
As  they  rustle  the  starry  night  through. 

I  kiss  the  wild  waves,  as  they  storm  the  sea; 

I  blow  my  breath,  through  the  sweeping  sail. 
And  the  sailor's,  staunch  heart  beats  glad  and  free, 
As  he  dreams  of  love  and  he  sings,  in  glee. 
The  praises  of  her,  in  sweet  melody — 

The  soft  blue  eye  and  the  cheek,  so  pale. 

I  sigh,  through  the  fields,  the  village  streets  bare, 

I  shake  the  trees  on  the  mountain's  rim 

And  I  sing  a  hymn  to  the  old  church,  there. 

And  I  hear  the  sobs  and  the  aching  prayer 

Of  longing  hearts,  sad— and  they  fill  the  air. 

With  notes  of  pain,  while  the  lights  burn  dim. 

EASTER. 

The  lily  rears  her  pure,  soul's  chalice  to  the  skies 

And  dewy  tears  of  silver-pearl  its  crest  adorn 

And  Mary,  in  her  beaming,  rapt'rous  mother-eyes. 

Mirrors,  on  this  celestial,  Resurrection  morn, 
The  lily-whiteness  of  her  soul,  while  Calv'ry's 
cries 
Are  lost  in  Easter  anthems,  by  fond  earth  up- 
borne. 


29 


REQUIEM  AETERNAM. 

They  chant  most  solemn  dirges  o'er  his  head 
And  wave  their  costliest  censers  in  the  air, 
And,  there,  he  lies,  clad  in  his  vestments  rare, 

Whilst  wistful  Grief  kneels,  sadly,  with  eyes  red, 

Beside  the  black,  cloth-wiapped,  funereal  bed. 
Twining  her  sorrow-rosary  in  sweet  prayer, 
'Round  fingers  pale — and,  down  her  cheeks  so 
fair. 

Floats,  tear  on  tear,  for  ev'ry  Ave  said. 

O  Priest-Heart!  gentle  as  a  little  child! 

Heart,  humble  as  Loyola's,  gifted  saint, 
Filled  with  the  visions,  dreams  of  life  above! 

We  pause  and  think — how  many,  sin-defiled, 
Have  found  in  thee,  when  weary,  sore  and  faint, 

A  place  of  solace,  filled  with  perfect  love. 

A  SUNSET-WISH. 

The  crimson  sky  far  off,  ablaze, 
F'loats  one,  white  cloud-ship  in  its  sea ; 
The  sun's,  last  smile — its  tender  rays 
Lead,  Lord  of  all,  my  thoughts  to  Thee. 

O  let  my  going  be  as  bright 
As  your  fair  sun's !  let  life's,  blue  sky 
Hold  in  embrace  the  love-clouds,  white. 
While  sorrow-clouds,  so  dark,  move  by ! 

O  Lord  of  all !  deep  darkness  through, 
Lead  Thou  me  on,  lest  I  forget 
And  welcome  me,  beyond  the  blue. 
When  my  life's,  weary  sun  has  set! 


30 


THERE  SHONE  A  STAR. 


There  shone  a  star,  in  Bethrem's,  opal  sky, 
While  shepherds,  old,  outstretched  their  hands 
in  prayer 
And  whispered,  longingly,  unto  the  air 
Their  hearts',  best  wish,  while  Herod-winds  did 
cry 
For  blood,  in  hatred — in  their  awful  sigh 
No  tone  of  pity!  Yel  the  world  was  fair. 
When  that  bright  star  welcomed  the  nation's 
Heir, 
In  a  lone  cave,  that  midnight  winds  passed  by. 

A  candle  flickered  in  an  humble  room. 
Where  a   Babe,  new-born,  drew  its  first,  glad 
breath. 
While   angels   sang,   through   heaven's   gates 
a-jar. 
The  praises  of  Lx)ve's,  fairest  flower  a-bloom — 
The  Child,  that  was  the  Lord  of  Life  and 
Death— 
And  now,  o'er  sin's,  deep  gloom,  there  shone  a 
Star. 

NOVEMBER. 


11 


.P  i 


In   widow-weeds,   she   kneels   at   Earth's,   lone 
tomb — 
Love's  queen — while  night  is  weeping  in  des- 
pair. 
And  now  Christ's  stars  peer  through  the  heaven's 
gloom — 
O  wealth  of  souls,  sweet  ransomed  by  her 
prayer  I 


31 


nil 


miiili 


A 


LEO  XIII. 

Alone  he  kneels.    A  hand  unseen  doth  trace 

A  smile,  so  saintly,  'neath  his  snow-crowned 
brow; 
A  shade  of  heaven  seems  to  kiss  his  face 

And  linger  long,  in  silent  awe.    And,  now. 
He  slowly  lifts  his  eves  as  to  implore 

His  Master's  aid.    They  rest  upon  the  cross 
And  Angers  trembling,  sweet,  in  prayer,  count 
o  er 

His  beads,  as  night  wears  on.    Not  his  the  los^ 
Uf  sleep— in  vain,  the  chimes  of  midnight  try 

io  summon  him  to  rest ;  he  hears  them  not. 
Un  wings  of  prayer,  his  soul  is  borne  on  high 

And  angels  bless  his  earthly  cares  forgot 
And,  sweet,  a  voice,  from  Father  unto  s&n, 
Meals,  o  er  his  soul,  for  duty  nobly  done 


I   ] 


TO  MOTHER! 

Brighter  than  summer's,  crimson-tinted  rose. 
The  color,  that  thy  cheeks  at  twilight  wear, 
brighter  the  silver  thread  of  thy  gray  hair. 

Soft  woven  by  the  years,  so  sweetly  glows 

Thv  smile,  so  gen'rous,  e'en  yet  gladly  throws 
Its  beams  of  love  with  angel-guidance  rare. 
Recalls  the  long  ago— the  lisping  prayer 

My  infant  lips,  slow,  sang,  at  ev-ning's  close 

U  Mother !  on  the  pulse  of  happy  years. 
Pregnant  with  childish  mirth  and  melody 

There  steals  a  song— and  lo!  it  stills  my  fears— 
Dear  cradle-song,  vibrating,  glad  and  free. 

Tuned  by  thy  ruby  lips!  Ah,  gentle  tears. 
Begone— to-night,  the  Past  is  king  with  me! 


32 


REVERIE. 

The  moonbeams  are  creeping  around  the  ereen 

trees,  * 

The  grass  in  the  meadow  is  wet  with  the  dew ; 

The  leaves  of  the  maple  are  kissed  by  the  breeze 

ITiey   rustle   and   whisper,   the   starry   nieht 

through. 

And,  lo,  I  am  dreaming.       Ah,  sweet,  ev'nine 
dream !  * 

You  bring  me  the  gladness,  the  peace  of  those 
days. 
That  sparkled  so  brightly,  when  youth  was  a- 
gleam 
With  love-lights,  soft  kindled  by  Hope's,  tender 
rays. 

Ah,  glad  thoughts,  so  golden,  breathed  from  the 
dead  years. 
To  me  you  are  sacred ;  stav,  linger  a  while ! 
You  pamt,  on  the  shadowy  vista  of  tears. 
Bright  memory's  pictures,  sweet  framed  in  a 
smile. 

O  paint  me  the  faces,  the  throbbing  hearts  free. 
Life's,  gay,  ebbing  morning— the  love-beams 
that  glowed. 
The  fields  and  the  mountains— the  sapphire-green 

That  heard  oft  the  ripples,  of  childhood,  that 
flowed  I 


33 


: 


O  pictures  of  childhood,  the  dearest  of  life  I 
They  set  me  a-singing  sweet  joy  songs  of  glee 

And,  when  I  am  longing  and  weary  of  strife, 
Dream-thoughts  are  the  artists,  that  paint  them 
for  me. 


HEART  SONG. 

Though  dark  be  the  clouds  in  the  heavens, 
Cheer  up,  little  heart!  do  not  sigh, 

For,  in  the  bright  lap  of  the  morning, 
The  angels  of  hope  softly  lie. 

Awaiting  the  beckoning  fingers 
Of  sunbeams,  hid  high  in  the  sky  I 

Cheer  up!   Life's,  promiscuous  failing 
Some  little  good  ofttimes  will  bring. 
That  awakes,  in  the  soul  of  sulT'ring, 
Glad,  spirit-like  thoughts,  that  do  cling 
To  the  dead  years',  old,  crumbling  pillars, 
In  mem'ry's  hall— where  I-ove  is  king. 

Cheer  up,  little  heart!  in  thy  yearning. 
There's  something  sweet,  yet  unexpressed; 

Though  day  brings  the  long,  bitter  battle. 
The  night  brings  pure  hours  of  rest. 

Your  soul,  fasten,  then,  on  the  striving, 

For  God  points  the  way!  It  is  best. 

'Tis  best,  little  heart!  for  some  morrow 
Will  soothe  the  deep  pangs  of  to-day. 

And,  for  the  regret  of  November, 

Will  come  the  glad  joy  of  a  May — 

Then,  into  the  fray  of  the  battle. 

For  God,  little  heart,  points  the  way! 


34 


GENTLE  WORDS. 

speak,  O  speak  a  gentle  word  I 
Let  its  echo,  oft,  be  heard  I 
It  is  music  to  the  ear. 
Laden  with  love-tones  of  cheer- 
Gentle  words  are  treasures,  rare, 
Floating;  on  the  breath  of  prayer. 

Gentle  words  have  many  wings 
And  they  bring  hope— whisperings, 
To  the  weary  in  distress, 
To  the  soul  in  sinfulness — 
Gentle  words  are  always  dear, 
They  have  dried  a  pauper's  tear. 

Gentle  words  are  angei-tones 
And  they  still  the  piercing  moans, 
That  ring  through  the  dismal  street- 
Saddened  hearts  and  weary  feet ! 
O  so  many  weeping  there! 
Love  so  cheap  and  words  so  rare  I 

Gentle  words  are  spirits  bright. 
That  oft  lead,  in  darkest  night. 
Some  poor  soul  to  haunts  of  rest- 
Spirits  that,  within  his  breast, 
Kindle  thoughts  of  God  above. 
With  their  orisons  of  love. 

Speak,  then,  speak  a  gentle  word, 

Sweeter  far  than  song  of  bird! 

It  is  music  to  the  ear 

And  it  gladdens  ev'ry  tear. 

And,  with  joy-gleam's,  sweet,  it  blends. 

Gentle  words  are  Heaven's  friends. 

35 


i 


SONGS  OF  DAY. 

I  saw  a  star  shine  through  the  azure  blue — 
Bright  light   ,{  mom,  that  heralded  the  day; 
The  shades  of  night  had  melted  into  gray 
And  daybreak,  o'er    the  trees,    came  peeping 

through. 
I  saw  the  mist  go  creeping,  'cross  the  lea, 
Far  o'er  the  frosted  fields  and  hills  so  bright, 
The  sun  threw  out  a  golden  flood  of  light 
And,  in  the  meadow,  songsters  trilled  in  glee. 
And,  while  mom's  pulses  throbbed  with  quick- 
'ning  life, 
My  soul  drank  in  the  beauty  pure,  supreme 
And,  far  into  the  heaven's,  azure  way. 
My  thoughts  did  steal,  from  the  hot  fields  of 
strife, 
To  visions  bright,  where  Hope's,  pure,  precious 
gleam 
Will  lead  mv  soul,  I  trust,  to  endless  day. 

Alone,  I  stood,  jpon  the  hill,  and  gazed 
Across  the  vale,  the  whisp'ring  trees  below. 
The  grassy  mead,  with  daisies  fresh,  aglow, 

The  distant  lakes,  that  in  the  sunset  blazed 

Like  silver  fields,  kissing  the  skies  so  red. 
And,  as  I  gazed  into  the  crimson  West, 
The  weary  sun  sank  tranquilly  to  rest 

And  Day  was  dead — its  light  serene  had  fled. 

O  Lord!  Who  knowest  all  our  earthly  fears. 
Be  Thou,  the  light  to  lead  our  footsteps  on 
And  Thine,  the  hand  to  dry  our  aching  tears, 

And,  when  life's  sun  almost  its  course  has  run. 

We  pray  Thee,   Lord,  to  cheer  the   heart,  that 
strives, 

And  bless  us,  in  the  sunset  of  our  lives! 

36 


^Ti."*''*?.'**''*"'""''*'' '»  ♦■'e  '"""P  of  life. 

«ta  ""*''  '°"*^  through  the  sultry 

And  hushed  the  weary  song  of  woe  and  strife, 
mat  chilled  our  hearts  and  scared  the  birds 
away. 
And,  now,  as  night  wears  on  and  whisp'ring  trees 

iweet  music  make,  beneath  the  star-lit  sky, 
I  feel  the  breath  of  roses  on  the  breeze 

And  watch  the  shadows  creep  awav  and  die. 
O  blessed  Night  of  rest  and  sweet  repose! 

A  wealth  of  gold,  far  o'er  the  deep,  blue  skies. 
Thy    queen— the    moon— in    all    her    splendor 
throws. 
While,  sweet,  my  thoughts  in  prayer  to  heaven 
nse. 
Where,  far  beyond  the  skies',  bright,  azure  bars, 
There  dwells  a  God,  whose  angels  are  thy  stars. 

HOPE. 

Hope  is  a  bright  angel— Faith's,  twin-sister,  fair. 
On  her  face,  God's,  sweet  sunlight— the  smile 
we  know  well. 
When  she  enters  our  hearts,  grim-visaged  De- 
spair 
Shrieking,  wings  a  swift  flight  to  her  loath- 
some, dark  hell. 


37 


FACES  IN  THE  STREET. 


Sitting,  sad  and  silent,  peering,  down  into  the 
crowded  street, 

I  hear  sounds  of  weary  feet 
And  my  longing  spirit  craves 
Just  a  blessing  on  those  faces,  staring  down  into 
their  graves. 

With  the  morning's,  crispy  clearness,  in  the  full- 
ness of  the  strife, 

Comes  the  flood  of  human  life ; 
And,  when  night's,  grim  shadows  meet. 
We  still  hear  the  clang,  that  calls  us  to  those 
faces,  in  the  street. 

Some  are  bright  and  others,  staring,  tell  their  tale 
of  grief  and  woe ; 
They  were  happy  long  ago ; 
Once  each  youthful  eye  did  seek 
For  the  roses  sweet,  that  blossomed  in  each  fair 
and  ruddy  cheek. 

Where  is  now  the  beaming  brightness,  that  en- 
circled once  each  brow  ? 
Sorrow  only  lingers  now. 
And  all  hope  has  sadly  fled 
From  the  face,  once  fond  and  faithful,  from  the 
heart  nigh  cold  and  dead. 

Theirs  has  been  a  reckless  failing — just  a  little 
day  by  day — 

And  they  halted  on  the  way. 
In  life's  twilight  hour,  most  sweet. 
O  great  God  I  look  down,  with  pity,  on  those 
poor  faces  in  the  street! 

38 


OLD  FRIENDS. 

Keep  the  old  friends  I    They  are  dear, 
They  have  brought  us  words  of  cheer ; 
They  have  stood  the  trial— the  test. 
They  are  dearest,  they  are  best — 
Friendships,  that  have  blessed  our  way 
With  love's,  tender,  beaming  ray — 
Friendships  noble,  true  and  brave. 
That  live  on,  beyond  the  grave. 

Keep  the  old  friends  I  They  are  gems. 
Diamonds  in  life's  diadems ; 
Gems  the  richest,  brightest  there — 
Treasures  of  a  friendship  rare. 
They  do  brighten  life's,  dim  cross. 
With  their  love-gleams  and  the  loss. 
Of  an  old  gem,  from  that  crown, 
Brings  regret,  a  tear,  a  frown. 

Keep  the  old  friends  I  They  an-  true, 
They  have  shown,  what  love  will  do. 
By  our  side,  in  joy  and  pain. 
They  have  wandered,  not  in  vain — 
Wandered,  through  the  dreary  years, 
Felt  the  kiss  of  salty  tears. 
They  have  filled  a  mother's  place. 
Dried  the  tear-drops,  on  our  face. 

Keep  the  old  friends !    They  are  best. 

Cherish  them,  within  your  breast 

Tokens  of  a  simny  life, 
Jewels  from  a  world  of  strife! 
They  are  dearest,  they  are  best. 
They  have  stood  the  trial— the  test. 
And,  should  life  its  joys  unfold. 
Make  new  ones  but  keep  the  old. 

39 


■p 


WOULD  YOU? 

Were  I  a  rose  in  garden  fair 
And  you,  dear,  softly  passing  there. 
Would  you  stoop  low  to  see  my  face 
Sweet  pillowed  in  the  leaves'  embrace — 
Would  you? 

And,  if,  perchance,  the  diops  of  dew 
Would  hide  it  from  your  tender  view. 
Would  you,  dear,  passing  by  that  day, 
Wipe  all  my  lonely  tears  away — 
Would  you? 

And,  whisp'ring  gladly  in  my  ear, 
A  love-inspired  word  of  cheer, 
A  beggar  in  Love's  garden  there. 
Would  you,  dear,  listen  to  my  prayer — 
Would  you? 

And,  with  a  bright  hght  in  your  eyes, 
As  radiant,  as  the  dawn's,  flushed  skies, 
Would  you  take  me  to  your  warm  breast 
That  I  might  feel  Love's  calm  and  rest — 
Would  you? 

And,  folded  there  for  some  long  while. 
With  red  cheeks,  warmed,  dear,  by  thy  smile, 
Would  you  bend  low  again  to  hear 
Something  sweet,  I  would  tell  thee,  dear — 
Would  you? 


; 


Or,  in  my  little  garden,  there, 
My  breath  upon  the  throbbing  air 
Would  you,  dear,  pass  me  idly  by— 
Alone,  unloved,  have  me  to  die- 
Would  you? 


NOCTURNE. 

The  night  winds  whisper,  through  the  leaves, 
Iheir  serenades  to  fields  a-bloom  ■ 
No  stars  clear  light  the  city's  gloom: 

1  he  ocean  heaves 

And,  sad,  she  throws,  outstretched  in  prayer 
In  terror  wild,  upon  the  sands. 
Her  foamy,  ghastly,  trembling  hands. 

In  gnm  despair. 

The  lone  shore  feels  her  hissing  breath  • 
The  rnol  winds  hear  her  thunders  roll. 
And,  in  her  deep  and  awful  soul. 

She  smgs  of  Death, 

0  weary  toiler  on  night's  sea, 

O  cheery  heart,  yea,  longing  so, 
O  faithful  one,  with  love  a-glow 
She  calls  not  thee ! 

Her  songs  are  orisons  of  rest. 
For  those,  who  stooped  to  kiss  her  face 
And  died  in  that  fierce,  last  embrace, 

upon  her  breast. 

They  beat  no  more— those  hearts  so  brave— 
The  bravest  of  that  sailor-band; 
And  God  has  blessed,  with  loving  Hand 

1  heir  ocean-grave. 


II 


ANTONIO:  A  TALE  OF  THE  STREET. 

He  stands  at  the  corner,  in  sun  and  in  rain. 

The  heart  of  the  city  beats  free ; 
Upon  his  young  lips  lies  the  imprint  of  pain, 

His  eyes  full  of  longing,  you  see. 
His  cheeks  are  as  pale,  as  the  lilies  that  bloom. 

In  his  own  bright  land,  o'er  the  sea: 
He  stands  there  forlorn — all  alone,  in  the  gloom, 

And  sings  sweet  a  love-melody. 


And  there,  at  his  side,  stands  his  harp,  old  and 
worn. 

That  has  lightened  sorrows  for  years; 
Sad,  homeless — an  orphan — with  jacket  all  torn — 

He  kisses  it  oft  with  his  tears. 
And,  filled  with  emotion,  his  song  often  steals 

Into  hearts,  so  gen'rous  and  rare, 
And  lingers  entrancing  and  sweetly  reveals 

The  fond  homes  of  pity  left  there. 


I 


'    ''' 


One  ev'ning,  he  sang  a  sad,  low,  tender  strain. 

And  the  harp  played  chords  in  between. 
And  crowds  gathered  round  him  to  hear  the  re- 
frain. 

So  sweet  was  its  music  serene. 
For  the  song,  he  sang  in  his  own  native  rhyme. 

Thrilled  the  pulses  of  past,  glad  years ; 
And  the  minors  of  grief  found  pity  this  time, 

And  melted  one  heart  into  tears. 


For,  close  at  his  side,  stood  a  man,  richly  drest. 
Who  wept  'neath  the  spell  of  that  strain ; 

It  recalled  to  his  mind  a  grassy  grave,  blest. 
On  sunny  Italia's  plain, 


42 


O  mother,  farewell !"  came  that  clear  voice  again 
The  stranger  looked  up  with  a  start. 
And  said,  while  the  harp  notes  sang  o'er  the  re- 
f  ram : 
"Come,  laddie!  your  song's  won  my  heart." 

The  bells  of  St.  Patrick's  are  ringing,  and  slow, 

A  message  to  us  they  do  bring; 
They  recall  to  our  minds  that  night  long  ago 

When  we  heard  an  orphan-boy  sing. 
To-day,  at  the  altar,  Antonio  stands— 

Qxl's  priest— and  his  lips  move  in  prayer, 
And,  Mass  being  over,  he  raises  his  hands 

And  blesses  his  friend,  kneeling  there. 

AT  SIX  O'CLOCK. 

1  he  city  shrieks,  'neath  sound  of  brazen  bell 
.\nd  voice  of  whistles  loud,  that  wildly  ring; 
Vet,  O,  what  dreams  of  peace  and  rest  th'ev 
bring. 
O  what  a  tale  to  careworn  hearts  they  tell  I 
Their  work  is  done  and,  now,  long  streets  they 
swell. 
The   sons,  so   worn,  that   to   the   workshop 
clmg —  '^ 

Age,  white  with  years,  and  youth  worship  the 

Kmg  '^ 

Of  Toil— enthroned   in   hearts,   that  know   him 

well. 
Father  of  heaven!  thy  sweet  mercy  shed 

Upon  this  throbbing  vein  of  human  strife! 
U  bless  these  tired  souls,  that  feel  the  weight 

Of  battle!  Yea,  their  hearts  have  often  bled. 
Uown  in  those  ranks  are  hidden  gems  of  life— 

i'earls  of  good  character,  prized  oft,  too  late. 

43 


i 


i  5 

if! 


1:i 

f 


TWO  UTTLE  SPARKUNG  EYES. 

One  may  search  the  fairest  flowers 

For  their  hue  of  smiling  May, 
One  may  view  the  silv'ry  wavelets, 

As  they  sparkle  in  the  spray, 
Yet,  alas!  these  cannot  equal, 

In  their  grandeur,  'neath  the  skies. 
The  wealth  of  beauty,  beaming 

From  two,  little,  sparkling  eyes. 

What  a  world  of  glad  expression 

Lingers  'neath  two  eyelids,  young, 
Like  a  song  of  sylvan  stillness. 

With  its  words  left,  yea,  unsung! 
'Tis  but  the  beam  of  brightness, 

That  an  angel  from  the  skies. 
Left  ling'ring,  o'er  the  cradle, 

For  two,  little,  sparkling  eyes. 

What  a  stream  of  joy  is  flowing, 

From  those  little,  sparkling  eyes! 
God  grant  that  it  may  brighten 

Saddened  hearts  and  wretched  lives! 
O  youthful  child!   I  cherish. 

That,  one  day,  those  eyes  so  sweet 
Will  tell  their  fond  heart-story. 

To  some  poor  soul  of  the  street! 

What  a  wealth  of  love  is  streaming. 
From  those  childish  eyes  of  blue! 

Ah!  'tis  the  soul,  unspotted, 
That  is  shining,  peering  through— 


44 


Shining  through,  in  all  its  pureneis, 

Like     Uly,  to  the  skies — 
Smiling  up  to  its  Creator, 

Through  two,  little,  sparkling  eyes. 


A  MADRIGAL. 

I  prayed  for  Joy. 
My  cheerless  heart  was  sad  and  lone 
And  in  a  tender,  gentle  tone, 
A  lark,  poised  in  the  skies  afar. 
Like  morn's,  last,  pale,  ethereal  star. 
Welcomed  the  daylight  o'er  the  hill — 
The  green  earth  smiled  and  alt  was  still — 

And  Joy  was  mine. 

I  prayed  for  Hope. 
Life's  afternoon  was  clouded  deep 
And  rained  thick  tear-drops  on  my  cheek 
And  birds  sang  songs  across  the  lea — 
O  weary  heart!  they  sang  for  thee! 
And,  when  the  sorrow-clouds  were  few, 
God's  sunshine,  pure,  came  stealing  through- 

And  Hope  was  mine. 

I  prayed  for  Love — 
And  Love  it  came,  from  God's,  white  throne, 
And  made  its  presence,  rare,  mine  own. 
It  tuned  my  heart's,  sad,  pulseless  strings 
And  sang  for  me  fond  whisperings 
Of  peace,  that  brightened  life's,  glad  day 
With  sunsets,  golden,  twilights  gray — 

And  Love  was  mine. 


\\ 


II 


45 


II 


i: 


SONG  OF  ABSENCE. 

I  cannot  sing  to-night.    My  heart  is  longing 
For  youth's  dream,  bright,  serene, 

And  deep,  within  my  soul,  glad  thoughts  are 
thronging 
O'er  days,  when  Love  was  queen. 

The  night  winds  wild,  through  willows  green,  are 
calling 

To  my  poor,  restless  heart; 
Around  me,  deep,  the  shadows  black  are  falling. 

Bidding  glad  joy  depart. 

And,  as  I  gaze  into  the  fire  bright  burning, 

The  dreams,  years  ne'er  destroy, 
Come  back  again,  and,  in  my  heart's,  fond  yearn- 
ing. 

Sorrow  gives  birth  to  Joy. 

And,  now,  I  see  them,  bright  as  rosy  morning. 

Those  faces,  glad,  sincere, 
That  crown  the  Past  with   gold-gleams   fresh, 
adorning, 

To  bless  life's,  bitter  tear. 

How  sweet  their  smile  and  glad  their  lips  are  tell- 

,  ing 

Of  love,  that  never  dies] 
The  past  is  bright  and  anthems  glad  are  swell- 
ing 

In  hearts,  that  sympathize. 


46 


Yes,  I  will  sing  to-night  the  gentle  measure 

Of  Youth's  song,  long  ago, 
For  Love,  that  crowned  our  childish  hearts  with 
pleasure, 

Reigns  queen,  again,  I  know. 

A  CHRISTMAS  REVERIE. 

From  the  fire-place,  so  olden. 

In  the  Yule-log's,  ruddy  glare. 
Leap  up  mem'ries,  that  are  golden. 

While  the  twilight  breathes  a  prayer ; 
And,  before  mine  eyes,  dear  faces. 

Glad  with  love's,  fond  overflow. 
Beaming  brightly,  leave  their  traces 

On  the  hot  coals,  red  a-glow. 

Beaming  faces !  in  your  splendor. 

Drifting  down  the  silent  years, 
O  the  joy  pure,  that  you  render. 

Has  controlled  a  flow  of  tears ! 
Come!  together  let  us  wander, 

Down  the  aisles  of  long  ago. 
While  the  Christmas  bells  clear,  yonder, 

Ring  their  tidings  o'er  the  snow  I 

Let  our  old  songs  swell  with  feeling. 

Let  our  spirits  bright  return, 
While  old  dreams  come  backward  stealing 

And,  in  Mem'ry's,  treasured  urn. 
Thoughts,  sweet,  slowly  light  the  fires. 

At  the  dear  shrine  of  the  Past, 
While  they  bum,  the  old  desires. 

In  our  hearts,  now  beating  fast! 


'J 


I 


^i'! 


1 


^ 


WHEN  THE  NIGHT  HAS  COME. 

O  the  heart  is  tuned  to  gladness, 

When  the  night  has  come! 
And  they  fade,  the  shades  of  sadness. 

When  the  night  has  come. 

The  wind  goes  piping  briskly,  o'er  the  mountain 

and  the  lea, 
The  river,  rushing  wildly,  throws  its  arms  into 

the  sea; 
The  foam-waves  hold  their  revel— O  'tis  joyous 

to  be  frte. 
When  the  night— when  the  night  has  come! 

O  lay  down  your  little  sorrows. 

When  the  night  has  come! 
Dream  of  joys  and  glad  to-morrows. 

When  the  night  has  come! 

The  Sprite  of  Day  has  vanished,  from  its  world  of 

toil  and  care. 
The  willow,  green,  low-bending,  tells  its  beaJs 

into  the  air. 
The  roses  kneel,  so  meekly,  like  pious  nuns  at 

prayer. 
When  the  night— when  the  night  has  come. 

O  poor  heart!  pray  cease  thy  longing. 

When  the  night  has  come! 
Thoughts  of  peace,  so  sweet,  come  thronging 

When  tSe  night  has  come. 


48 


» 


The  city's  lone  and  empty-hushed,  the  sound  of 
weary  feet — 

No  bursting  peals  of  laughterl  Gone,  those  faces 
in  the  street, 

And,  on  the  high,  old  towers,  the  pale  moon- 
beams dance  and  meet. 
When  the  night — when  the  night  has  come. 

A  LOVE  SONG. 


Your  eyes  are  homes,  where  angels  dwell. 

As  blue  as  heaven's  blue; 
What  innocence  so  rare  they  tell — 
Those  eyes,  where  little  angels  dwell, 

Clear,  sparkling  sapphires,  true ! 

Your  cheeks  are  like  a  twilight  sky, 
As  flushed  as  summer's  rose; 

0  how  they  color,  when  you  sigh — 
Those  cheeks,  so  like  a  twilight  sky. 

And  how  each  red  rose  glows! 

Your  smile  is  like  a  sunbeam  fair 

From  heaven  sent  to  grace. 
And  bring  to  me  a  joy  so  rare — 
That  smile,  so  like  a  sunbeam  fair. 

That  nothing  can  efface  I 

Your  voice  is  like  a  rippling  rill, 
As  gushing  and  as  free; 

1  love  its  music — always  will, 
Your  voice,  so  like  a  rippling  rill. 

Bursting  in  girlish  glee. 


49 


TWO  GRAVES. 
I 

In  yon,  fresh  grave,  o'er  which  the  willows  rise, 

Where  monument,  so  costly,  bears  his  name, 
The  honored  statesman,  cold  in  death,  now  lies — 

A  Nation's,  cherished  idol.    Weahh  and  Fame 
Long  threw  their  smiles  upon  his  hoary  head; 

A  king's,  gay  fav'rite,  too,  for  many  years. 
He'd  been  and,  when  'twas  known  that  he  was 
dead. 

An  Empire's  grief  did  flood  his  bier  with  tears. 
For  many  days,  his  body  lay  in  state 

And  Royalty  looked  on,  with  solemn  mien. 
And  placed  a  wreath  upon  him,  lowly  laid — 

How  solemn,  in  its  grandeur,  such  a  scene  1 
Long  years  pass  by  and  springbirds  sing  again, 

The   willows  tall,   still,  guard  a  statesman's 
grave, 
But  O!    How  changed,  from  what  it  once  had 
been! 

Is  mem'ry  dead  for  him,  there,  sleeping  laid? 
The  monument  lies  shattered  on  the  ground. 

The  rains  of  years  have  washed  his  name  away 
And  ivy,  creeping,  spreading  thickly  round. 

Has  decked  his  grave.    Has  no  one  come  to 
say 
Just  one   short  prayer,   for  him,   long   resting 
there? 

The  robin's,  sad,  sweet  song  is  all  he  hears 
And  what  is  honor,   fame  and  wealth's,  great 
share, 

When  one's  forgotten  in  a  few,  short  years  ? 


SO 


II 

Far  in  the  Western  wilds,  dark,  gloomy,  lone, 
Which   oft   have  felt   the   Indians   on    their 
breast, 
The  chapel  chime  chants  sweet,  in  monotone. 

O'er  one,  green  grave,  a  requiem,  thrice  blest. 
Wo  monument  to  grace  yon,  grassy  plot. 
Where  long  he  sleeps,  beneath  the  cedar's 
shade! 
A  wooden  cross,  alone,  sad,  marks  the  spot- 
On  his  cold  breast,  no  kingly  wreathes  were 
laid. 
From  France,  a  priest,  in  youth,  long  years  ago. 

He  came  to  teach  the  Indians  peace  and  love; 
For  nfty  years,  in  rain  and  sleet  and  snow, 

He  led  them  on  in  joy  to  God  above. 
And,  when  he  died,  beloved  by  all  his  band, 
The  souls,  he'd  saved,  beamed,  bright  as  glist- 
'ning  stars. 

That  led  him  to  a  brighter,  happier  land 

To  bliss  supreme,  beyond  the  azure  bars. 
And,  though  he  died,  by  earthly  kings  unsung, 
,   A  King  of  heaven  crowned  his  saintly  head. 
Tis  Spring  again.    The  chapel  chime  has  rung 
And,  from  their  wigwams,  by  the  old  chief  led, 
They  come  in  tears— soft,  at  yon  grave,  love's 
theme. 
In  tuneful  voice  they  chant,  and,  on  the  hill. 
The  siin  in  parting  throws  a  gentle  gleam, 
O  er  him  long  dead,  in  prayer,  remembered  still. 


5' 


M 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  DYING  YEAR. 

It'i  a  song  of  desolation 

And  its  notes  are  filled  with  pain ; 
And,  in  minor-tones  of  sorrow, 

It  steals  o'er  the  icy  plain. 
It  is  fraught  with  words  of  feeling 

And  it's  set  in  tones  of  prayer. 
And  it  melts  the  breath  of  winter 

And  it  saddens  all  the  air. 

O  voice  of  the  starry  midnight. 

From  thy  bed  of  ice  and  snow  I 
Lo!  we  hear  thy  dying  accents 

And  thy  parting  tale  of  woe. 
And  all  eyes  are  filled  with  tear-drops 

And  all  throbbing  hearts  beat  slow, 
While  our  gladdened  thoughts,  so  happy, 

Sweet  recall  the  long  ago. 

It's  a  song  of  desolation 

And  it  rustles  on  the  breeze. 
And  it  lingers,  like  an  echo, 

'Round  the  naked,  frozen  trees. 
That  stand,  lone  and  sad  forsaken, 

Like  night's  watchers,  wan  and  old- 
Blessing,  sweet,  the  old  year,  lying 
On  its,  icy  bier,  so  cold. 

Now  the  midnight  song  is  ended 
And  the  requiem-winds  are  still; 

Now  is  hushed  that  song  of  sorrow 
And  our  gladdened  pulses  thrill. 


52 


II 


For  the  old  gear's  gone  forever 
And  its  spirit  lone  has  fled 

And  the  New  Year,  in  its  dawning, 
Rings  its  joy  bells  overhead. 


THREE  PICTURES. 

Within  a  room,  a  babe  beheld 

The  light  of  life's,  first  day. 
And,  through  the  window,  curtained-white. 

Sunbeams  began  to  play. 
Like  angels,  they  came  stealing  in 

To  open  two,  blue  eyes ; 
They  heard  a  mother's,  joyful  prayer. 

That  stole  up  to  the  skies. 

Long  years  passed  by  and,  in  that  room. 

Sunbeams  again  did  peep; 
Like  angels,  they  came  stealing  in 

To  close  two  eyes  in  sleep. 
A  mother  knelt  beside  the  bier. 

While  tears  shone  in  her  eyes; 
She  tried  to  pray — but  he  was  dead — 

Her  son — her  hope  and  prize! 

And,  on  a  grave,  just  o'er  the  way, 

A  rose  has  bloomed  for  years ; 
A  mother  came  to  pray  each  day 

And  bathe  it  in  her  tears. 
To-day,  again,  the  sunbeams  steal — 

Steal  o'er  life's,  sweetest  loss. 
Her  prayer  is  done — and  now  she,  too. 

Sleeps  softly,  'neath  the  cross. 


S3 


IN  THE  UBRARY. 

Fair,  from  a  shelf — their  silent  home — 
They  gaze  upon  me,  day  by  day; 

They  never  wander,  never  roam — 
Their  presence  cheers  me  on  my  way  . 

They  bring  my  heart  a  sweet  delight — 

Those  constant  friends  are  always  bright. 

They  cheered  me  in  my  youthful  time 
And  taught  me  pity — love's,  dear  song — 

And,  like  the  scent  of  rose  and  thyme. 
Their  voices  lingered  o'er  me  long. 

They  opened  up  their  hearts  to  me. 

As  friend  to  friend,  so  joyfully. 

They  told  me  tales  of  bygone  days. 
Of  lives,  the  kind  God  often  sends. 

Whose  actions,  like  fond  Hope's,  pure  rays. 
Deep  warmed  my  thoughts  to  nobler  ends. 

Ah  voices,  you  sang  sweet  one  day. 

Far  sweeter  than  the  birds  at  play! 

And,  even  now,  you  give  to  me 
Your  sweetest  thoughts,  so  tender,  rare; 

You  open  your  pure  souls  to  me 
And  teach  me  all,  that  lingers  there. 

And,  often,  on  some  weary  day. 

Your  voices  sing  my  cares  away. 

O  Friends!  Indeed,  you  are  the  best. 
The  truest,  for  your  friendship's  pure! 

You  lead  my  thoughts  to  homes  of  rest. 
To  dreams  of  joy  and,  ever,  lure 

Them  onward  to  your  peaceful  nooks. 

Sweet  friends!  Blest  company  of  books! 

54 


A  CRADLE  SONG. 

Little  one!  O  close  thine  eyes. 
Do  my  dearie  I  Do  my  dearie! 

Shadows  kiss  the  ev'ning  skies, 
O  so  dreary!  O  so  dreary! 

Soft,  the  chimes  come  sweetly  stealing 
O'er  the  willows,  full  of  feeling. 

And  they  bring  me  peals  of  gladness 
And  they  soothe  the  thoughts  of  sadness 

While  I  whisper,  sweet  and  low: 
"Sleep,  O  sleep,  my  baby  O!" 

Sleep,  O  sleep,  my  dearie  do! 
Do  my  dearie!  Do  my  dearie! 

Two  wee  eyes,  so  bright  and  blue. 
They  are  wear)';  they  are  weary. 

Hush,  the  Dream-man's  coming,  coming, 
Hear  him  calling,  hear  him  humming! 

On  the  field,  the  frost  is  lying. 
And  the  breezes,  they  are  sighing. 

While  I  whisper,  sweet  and  low: 
"Sleep,  O  sleep,  my  baby  O!" 

Hark!  I  sing  a  hush-a-bye 
To  my  dearie,  to  my  dearie. 

And  I  kiss,  where  toses  lie. 
Cheeks  of  dearie,  not  so  weary. 

Gentle  vcMces,  joy,  are  bringing 
For  thee,  dearie,  they  are  singing; 

All  night  through,  a  love-watch  keeping, 
O'er  thy  cradle,  angels  peeping, 

Whisper  ever,  sweet  and  low: 
"Sleep,  O  sleep,  sweet  baby  O'" 


ss 


THE  ANGEL  OF  SMILES. 

The  Angel  of  Smiles  I  You  have  met  him  I  know, 
As  he  flies  on  the  breath  of  the  breezes,  soft 
blowing; 
He  plays,  round  the  fields  of  the  dreams  long 
ago. 
And,  glad,  brings  us  a  joy  and  a  peace  so  con- 
soling. 

The  beggar's,  old  cot  and  the  palace  of  kings 
Are  places  he  visits,  on  pinions  light,  flying; 
The  poor  and  the  rich  hear  the  sweet  song  he 
sings 
And  it  gladdens  and  stills  their  lone  voices' 
sad,  sighing. 

Our  faces  are  his  and  he  kisses  them  sweet 
And  wreathes  them  so  fondly  in  bright  halos  of 
gladness 
And  sunbeams  stoop  low,  soft,  to  kiss  his  pure 
feet. 
While  he  brushes  away  all  the  lines  of  our  sad- 
ness. 

And,  with  his  white  wings,  lo,  he  dries  our  salt 
tears 
And  fans  the  pale  lilies,  our  wan  cheek  oft  dis- 
closes; 
The  Angel  of  Smiles  is  the  friend  of  our  years- 
Joy's,  anxious,  young  lover,  that  recalls  the 
dead  roses. 


WHILE  HOPE  SLEPT. 

Without,  the  midnight  stars  bright  wait, 

While  at  the  Virgin's  altar,  fair, 

A  woman,  with  dishevelled  hair. 
Cries:  "Mother!  see — too  late!  too  latel" 

Upon  her  trembling  arms  so  weak. 
An  infant  sleeps;  two  sea-blue  eyes 
Look  far  beyond  the  earthly  skies. 

He  hears  not  that  wild,  mother-shriek. 

'"Twas  but  a  moment,  since  he  lay 
Upon  my  breast  and  I  did  feel 
His  little  heart's,  last  message  steal 

From  eyes,  that  sunbeamed  my  sweet  day." 

"Lord!  why  must  Thou,  now,  crush  my  heart 
And  take  from  me  my  very  all? 
I  thought  I  heard  the  angels  call — 

0  Mother  mine!  'tis  hard  to  part." 

'"Tis  hard  to  part.  This  bitter  loss 
Has  filled  the  cup  to  its  red  rim ; 
I  cannot,  when  I  think  of  him — 

1  cannot  lift  the  heavy  cross!" 

And,  suddenly,  a  strange,  sweet  light 
Transfixed  the  woman's,  tear-stained  face; 
Her  lips  moved  slow,  a  prayer  did  grace — 

A  white,  white  pearl — her  crown  so  bright. 

A  mother  unto  Mother  spoke 
And,  o'er  the  hills  of  her  despair. 
To  bless  life's,  coming  moments,  rare, 

Hope's  rosy  morn,  then,  gladly  broke 

57 


tl 


VOICES  OF  THE  MIDNIGHT! 

Hark,  how  the  joy  bell's,  silver  peal  rings  far, 
across  the  snow, 
Whilst  twinkling  stars,  like  angels,  throw  their 
Christmas  smiles  below ; 
The  night's  filled  with  devotion,  and,  upon  her 
jeweled  wings, 
A  song  of  love  comes  floating,  and  a  wealth  of 
joy  it  brings. 

It  tunes  all  hearts  to  beating,  with  its  notes  of 

right  good  cheer; 
Those  voices  of  the  midnight  sing  to  bless  the 

coming  year. 
Their  song  has  rung  for  ages,  on  the  quickened 

pulse  of  Time 
And — "Gloria  in  Excelsis" — is  the  burden  of  its 

rhyme. 

Then  twine  a  holly  wreath  of  joy,  while  bright 
the  Yule-log  glows, 
And  raise  your  voices  in  the  song,  that  from 
yon  belfry  flows: 
It  steals,  far  o'er  the  city,  like  an  angel's,  whis- 
pered prayer. 
It  fills    all  hearts  with  gladness    and,  sweet, 
leaves  its  message  there. 

O!  Joybells,  soft,  now  ringing!   Pray,  cease  not 
your  silver  peal  I 
O!  Voices  of  the  midnight!   Let  your  music 
sweetlv  steal 


58 


M. 


And  fill,  with  hope  and  lasting  joy,  the  sinful 
hearts  of  men. 
The  while  you  carol  forth  the  birth,  of  Him,  at 
Bethlehem. 


THE  VOICE  OF  WINTER. 

From  far  beyond  the  autumn  hills, 

The  frost  winds  lured  it,  lone; 
Across  the  plains  and  ripphng  rills, 

It  sang  a  monotone. 
The  sparrow  heard  its  mournful  call 

Ring  down  the  mountain  side; 
A  sky  of  gloom  o'ershadowed  all. 

The  last,  bright  leaf  had  died. 

It  sang  a  dirge  in  doleful  rhyme, 

A  song  of  death  and  woe ; 
The  year  was  old,  the  pulse  of  Time 

Was  beating  soft  and  slow. 
The  voice  stole  through  the  skies,  so  gray. 

It  whispered,  called  a  name; 
The  snow  flakes  fell,  fast  in  their  play. 

When,  lo,  the  High-priest  came. 

He  wore  a  robe  of  frost  and  snow, 

"i  was  soft  as  eider-down ; 
Upon  his  head,  with  white  a-glow. 

He  wore  his  icy  crown. 
He  prayed  the  dying  year  to  rest. 

While  stars  beamed  in  the  blue ; 
His  icy  hands  upon  his  breast. 

He  welcomed  forth  the — New. 


59 


i; 


.  !t 


SONG  OF  HOPE. 

Smiling  forth  cheerfully,  in  the  deep  gloom, 
Hope  is  a  flower  rare,  bursting  to  bloom — 
Flower,  the  purest  there,  kissing  life's  way. 
Calling  the  sunbeams,  fair,  dancing,  to  play. 

Standing,  yea,  fearlefsly,  lighting  life's  wave, 
Hope  is  a  beacon-light,  beaming  to  save 
Hearts,  that  in  darkest  night  prayerfully  roam — 
Hearts,  that    are   sore-distressed,  longing    for 
homie. 

Glowing  sweet,  cheerfully,  brighter  than  star, 
Hope  is  an  angel's  smile,  through  skies  afar — 
Smile,  wreatl.ed  in  deepest  love,  pure  and  serene. 
Leading  our  souls,  above,  to  the  Unseen. 


THE  CONSOLING  CHRIST. 

Before  Thee,  here,  he  kneels,  O  Master  great. 
At  Thy  bright  altar's  foot,  heartsore,  alone  I 
O  stifle.  Thou,  his  sigh— his  piercing  moan! 

Do'st  hear  him  plead  at  Thy  sweet,  pearly  gate 

Of  Grace,  through  which  Thy  servants  pass  elate 
To  paradisial  fields,  whilst  he  is  blown 
About  Sin's  angry  sea — his  young  heart  grown 

To  crime?    I  wonder,  is  it  now  too  late? 

Too  late  ?    Ah,  no  I    Upon  the  altar  fair, 

Christ  waits  fore'er,  with  anxious,  tear-stained 

face. 
Forgiving,  kind,  to  welcome  and  embrace 

His  erring  children — and  white  lilies  rare 
Sprout,  in  the  gardens  of  their  soul,  in  place 

Of  Sin's,  red  weeds,nurtured  by  faith  and  prayer. 

60 


FELLOWSHIP. 

To  be  of  service  to  our  fellowmen, 
To  lighten  other's  burdens  day  by  day, 
To  scatter  kindness  with  love's,  sunny  ray 
And,  thus,  disperse  the  gloom  in  the  cold  den 
Ofhuman  hearts,  that  feel  but  anguish,  when 
liweet  Peace  should  sit  therein,  enthroned  for 

aye. 
With  Joy.  in  princely  waiting,  bright  as  May, 
rhat  gladdens  the  lone  heart  of  vale  and  glen— 
ihis  should  be  our  grand  endeavor.    This  right 

Coiuciousness  of  doing,  when  duty  calls, 
some  little  good,  that  opens  to  eyes,  sad, 
Bnght  amaranthine  vistas  of  delight. 
Will  doubly  pay  us,  when  life's  shadow  falls. 
Full  knowing  that  we  lived  to  make  hearts  glad 


O  HEART  OF  MINE. 

O  heart  of  mine  I 
I  think  of  thee,  as  always  young; 
I  hear  thee  knocking  at  my  breast- 
But  O  dear  heart,  for  thee,  no  rest. 
Until  hfe's,  tender  song  is  sung. 
God  holds  the  key  and  He  knows  best. 
Poor  heart  of  mine ! 

O  heart  of  mine  I 
I  fain  would  grant  thee  dreams  of  peace; 
Thy  prison  walls  are  dark,  I  know, 
I  hear  thee  walking  to  and  fro. 
Like  some  chained  captive,  ill  at 
But  then  alas  I   it  must  be  so, 
Poorheart  of  minel 

6i 


MUSING. 

In  vain,  I  court  sweet  sleep;  my  spiriu  thrill. 
The  morning  mists  creep,  softly,  round  the 
trees; 

Alone,  I,  longing,  gaie  and  sweet  the  bre<ae 
Steals,  perfume  laden,  o'er  the  tree-crowned  hill. 
Yet,  sadly  changed,  yon  hill  does  seem  to-day, 

Since  when  our  voices  sang  their  songs  around ; 

The  grassy  bench  lies  crumbled  on  the  ground, 
Where  oft  we  sat  and  played  the  time  away. 
And  now  mymind,on  wingid  thought,doth  roam 

Far  backward,  o'er  the  dream  of  misty  years, 

I  live  again  the  past— its  joys  and  tears— 
And  see  the  friends  youth  me,  in  kindness,  gave. 
Yetl    Gone  those  hearts,  now  drifted  far  from 

home  I —  . 

Some  love  on  still ;  some  rest  withm  the  grave. 

AT  MIDNIGHT. 

The  pale,  white  stars,  lone,  sentinel  the  night, 
The  moon  is  hid  in  heavy  clouds  of  gray; 
The  city's  heart,  that  throbbed  with  life  all  day, 
Did  cease  to  beat,  when  ev'ning  took  its  flight. 
And,  now,  the  air  is  breathless,  calm  and  stiU, 
Whilst  I  here,  care-oppressed,  awake  do  he 
And  long,  in  vain,  for  Sleep  to  close  my  eye. 
Upon  the  world,  whilst  slow  my  pulses  thnll. 
Come,  then,  sweet  Sleepl  O  Nurse  of  weary  men 
And  spread  thy  spell,  O  mystic  Maid  of  nightl 
I  beg  thee.  Charmer,  run  thy  fingers  light, 
Across  my  thought-racked,  throbbing  mmd,  and, 

then, 
I  prithee.  Spirit!  close  mine  weary  eyes 
And  let  me  dream,  'till  Moni's  lips  lass  the  skiesl 

62 


ii!;. 


IN  THE  CLOISTER. 

She  spends  her  life,  far  from  the  noisy  mart 
Of  commerce,  and  deep,  sunny,  azure  skies 
Paint  all  the  brighter,  to  her  human  eyes, 

The  vales  of  Solitude,  dear  to  her  heart! 

And,  there,  she  toils  unknown  and  bears  her  part 
Of  Life's  Gethsemane.    Yet,  O,  the  prize  I 
Sweet,  rose-crowned  ways  lead  not  to  para- 
dise— 

She  chose  the  thorny  ways,  that  pain  and  smart. 

A  mystic  Hand  has  tuned  her  fond  heart-string;s 
To  one  long  hymn  of  praise,  with  joy  replete. 

That  fills,  with  music,  paths  angels  have  trod 
And,  from  her  soul.  Love  daily,  gladly  flings 

Pearls  of  prayer — keys,  that  unlock,  in  dire  need. 
The  audience  chamber  of  the  very  God. 


JUNE. 

June  and  her  breezes  to  greet  us  again, 

Decked  in  her  morning  gleams — queen  of  the 

plain! 
Red  are  the  roses,  fresh,  kissing  her  cheek — 
O  for  her  dreamy  eyes,  gentle  and  meek  I 

Soft,  glow,  the  sunny  smiles  on  her  young  face, 
Green,  lie,  the  meadow-lands  in  her  embrace; 
Quick,  flow,  the  silver  rills,  busy  and  free. 
Tuned  by  her  fingers  to  sweet  melody. 

June !  Thou  art  blushing,  in  the  pale  light, 
Wrapped  in  thy  gossamer— trainings  of  white; 
Silken  mists,  gaily,  thy  fair  form  adorn — 
June  I  Thou  art  blushing — a  bride  of  the  mom, 

63 


M    >l 


i    1 


m 


V 


INVOCATION. 

Show  me  the  way,  that  Thou  wouldit  have  me 
go, 

While  wand'ring  down  Life'i,  darkened  path  of 
years, 

And  give  me  strength  to  fight  the  bitter  fears, 
That  strive  to  bring  about  my  overthrow  I 
I  ask  not  much,  dear  Lord.    Full  well  I  know, 

That  there  is  joy  in  life  to  dry  my  tears. 

That  lips  are  kind  to  whisper  in  my  ears 
And  tune  my  heart  strings  to  love's  allegro. 
Show  me  the  way,  kind  Father!  Let  me  see 
A  little  sunlight  in  my  ev'ry  day 

And,  for  my  wealth,  give  me  not  lucre  gay 
But  peace  of  soul  and  mind !  Therein,  for  me. 

Lies  recompense,  the  sweetest,  to  defray 
Man's  sense  of  duty,  love-defined  and  free. 

EVENTIDE. 

Far  o'er  the  fields,  rich  in  their  em'rald  gleam. 
Where  whisp'ring  run  the  merry  rills  so  free. 
The  meadow-lark  sounds  sweet  her  melody. 

And  sunbeams,  fading,  throw  their  smites  su- 
preme. 

The  lily  pale  has  laid  her  head  to  dream 
Upon  the  brook's,  green  breast  and,  o'er  the  lea, 
In  notes  of  prayer,  soft,  pealing,  glad  and  free. 

The  ang'lus,  ringing,  sings  its  ev'ning  theme. 

O  little  bell!  From  out  yon  belfry  gray, 
Thy  accents,  stealing,  linger  soft  and  sweet ; 
Hushed  are  the  noises  in  the  village  street. 

Whilst  now  you  echo  out  the  parting  day — 

The  ploughman  hears  thy  call  and  doth  repeat 

His  thanks  to  God,  while  bending  low  to  pray. 


DREAM— FACES. 

They  pass  by  in  smiles  and  in  splendor 

A-  d  float  on  the  wings  of  the  past, 
Dream-faces,  so  beaming  and  tender. 

With  love,  that  is  true  to  the  last ; 
They  bring  to  my  heart  a  sweet  story, 

A  glimpse  of  the  distant,  glad  days. 
The  tale  of  a  life,  full  of  glory — 

The  rosy  and  thorny-crowned  ways. 

Dream-faces,  bright,  fresh  as  the  morning. 

That  steal  from  the  dead,  buried  years. 
In  me,  you  awake,  without  warning. 

The  joys,  that  lie  hidden  by  tears — 
The  joys  of  a  childhood,  sweet,  cherished, 

A  thought  of  those  moments  of  bliss. 
The  many,  sad  heart-aches,  that  perished, 

When  soothed  by  a  smile  and  a  kiss. 

MATER  DOLOROSA. 

O  Mother,  Queen!  great  was  the  pang  of  pain, 
That  pierced  thy  heart,  when,  sad,  thy  tearful 

eyes 
Beheld  the  clouds  of  sufFring,  round  thee,  rise 
To  kiss  the  cross,  that  marks  the  Christ's,  short 
reign. 

No  lips  of  thine,  to  murmur,  gave  relief 
They   moved;   yet   'twas   in   sorrow's,   silent 

prayer — 
Upon  the  cross,  thy  son  fast  nailed,  there. 

And,  in  thy  soul,  a  Calvary  of  grief. 


65 


f 


A  THOUGHT. 

I  uw  a  ro*e,  at  daylight, 

Open  itt  dewy  ejre; 
I  taw  a  roM,  at  twilight, 

Fold  up  its  leaves  and  sigh. 
In  its  coat  ol  ruby-velvet, 

It  faded  slow  and  died — 
And,  long,  its  perfume  lingered. 

Though  its  leaves  lay  parched  and  dried. 

And  thus,  many  lives  have  faded. 

Like  the  dew-kissed,  summer  nx 
Faded,  when  the  heart  was  lightest. 

In  the  twilight  of  life's  ckwe. 
And  full  many,  sweet,  are  resting. 

In  the  graves,  that  hold  them  deep. 
With  their  actions,  bright,  still  gbwing. 

Though  they've  Uun  years,  in  death's  sleep. 

A  SUMMER  MORNING. 

The  sprite  of  Dawn  has  spread  its  silver  wings 
And,  lo,  a  smile  steals  o'er  the  Day's,  lone  face 
Anddries  the  tears  of  dew— the  sorrow-trace— 

With  gleams  of  joy  and  sunny  glistening*. 

Glad,  from  her  harp,  the  meadow-lark  now  flings 
Her  chords  of  serenade  and  white  clouds  grace 
The  blue  sky  with  their  sunbeam-tinted  lace, 

While,  over  field  and  fen,  mom's  medley  rings. 

Ah,  voices,  tuned  in  matin-minstrelsy, 
I  love  your  echoes'  stealing,  glad  refrain  I 
The  hunter  scales  the  mountain  height  again 

And,  on  the  breath  of  roses,  fresh  and  free. 
His  sweet  song,  tender,  dies  far  down  the  plam 

And  one  true  heart  throbs  back  Love's  melody. 

66 


III 

ii! 


THE  OLD  YEAR  IS  NO  MORE. 

The  old  year  ii  no  more.    Her  dear,  tweet  face 
Is  wreathed  in  sadnesi ;  in  her  soft,  gray  hair. 
The  froat-jewel*  glitter,  and,  in  »ilent  prayer. 

The  willows,  o'er  the  midnight  burial-place. 

Do  fold  their  thin,  wan  hands,  while  moonbeams 
trace 
Their  shadows  on  the  cross  of  snow,  so  rare. 
That   lone   earth   rears  above  Time's  angel, 
fair — 

The  dead,  dead  Bride  of  winter's  love-embrici.-. 

And,  while  the  paeans  ring  the  New  Year  in  - 
A  happy  child,  her  piercing,  anxious  eM 

Hiding  all  future  hopes,  sorrows  and  teur  ^ 
Creator  I  Lord  I  forgive  the  awful  sin, 

Tliat  stains  our  past,  and  let  our  thougtrs  ari^ 
To  nobler  actions  through  life's,  com.  ig  yeai^! 

EASTER  SONG. 

Lift  your  hearts  to  heaven, 

Hear  the  joyful,  stirring  sound  I 
Like  nuns  gentle,  kneeling. 

Spotless  lilies,  on  the  ground, 
Watt  their  purest  incense, 

From  their  yellow  censers,  bright, 
While  the  dawn  discloses 

Resurrection's,  radiant  light. 

Open,  soul,  thy  portals, 

Let  the  paeans  gladly  ring! 
Bid  thy  Guest  to  enter — 

Calv'ry's,  thorn-crowned,  risen  King! 
Grace!  I  hear  thee  knocking 

At  yon  pearly,  angel-gate — 

67 


O  white  love,  pray,  enter, 
Into  my  soul's  estate ! 

Trembling  soul  I    Awaken 

From  Gethsemanes  of  sin! 
Break  the  chains  of  anguish, 

Let  the  Easter  echo  in 
Peace  and  love  and  gladness, 

While  the  dear  Christ  points  the  way ! 
O  mv  soul !  this  dawning 

Ushers  in  thy  perfect  day  I 

NOCTURNE. 

Night!  O  the  heart  of  her,  throbbing  in  glee. 
Silent,  the  robin's  stir  in  the  birch-tree — 
Soft,  glows  her  angel-star,  brilliant,  serene. 
Night— and  the  face  of  her,  smiling — a  queen. 

Queen  of  the  Slumber  Sea,  wondrous  and  fair ! 
I  love  thy  minstrelsy,  stealing  and  rare — 
Breeze  of  the  love-tone  sweet,  singing  of  spring. 
Serenades  glad,  repeat,  leaves  whispering. 

Queen !  and  the  sight  of  her,  dazzli-ig  and  fair. 
Rich,  robed  in  gossamer ;  trailing,  i:er  hair 
Kiss  the  pale,  moonbeams'  light,  sinking  to  rest— 
O  for  the  jewel-bright  stars  on  her  breast ! 

Night!  and  the  dreams  of  peace,  lighting  her 

eyes, 
Bring  us  sleep  to  release  care's,  weary  sighs; 
Mountain  and  meadow  far  smile,  in  their  green. 
Night — and  the  face  of  her,  glowing— a  queen. 


68 


TO  A  SPRING  ROBIN! 

Sweet  is  the  music  of  the  robin's  song, 
That  floats  o'er  meadows  glowing ; 

He  sings  his  love-notes,  far  and  wide, 

O'er  marshy  mere  and  mountain-side 

And  folds  his  wings  at  eventide. 
When  breezes  cold  are  blowing. 

His  song  steals  o'er  the  fields  of  Death 

And  Spring  diaws  glad  her  first,  fresh  breath. 

Clear  voice  of  morning!  sound  thy  tender  trill 

In  sunn^  springtime  weather. 
For  Winter's  heart  is  cold  and  dead 
And  sunbeams,  gleaming  overhead. 
Warm  back  to  bloom  the  roses  red. 

While  dancing  'round  together! 

O  charmer,  sweet,  into  mine  ear 
Repeat  thy  dulcet -notes  of  cheer! 


«9 


THE  OLD  LOVE. 

'Tis,  in  vain,  we  appeal  to  the  old  love, 
Asleep  in  the  shroud  of  the  snows; 

She  was  good,  she  was  troe,  she  was  hopeful- 
Time's  bridal,  white,  beautiful  rose. 

Then  away  with  the  pain  and  the  anguish 
Of  parting,  that  ev'ry  heart  knows. 

Let  us  then,  for  the  sake  of  the  old  love. 
Gaze  long  in  those  passion- warm  eyes; 

They  are  tearful  and  know  not  the  rapture 
Of  anxiov's.  bright,  amethyst  skies. 

That  sweet  lie,  in  the  lap  of  the  morning, 
To  greet  the  sad  world's,  precious  prize. 

O  poor  heart !  we  are  done  with  the  old  love 
And,  on  the  fresh  wind's,  mighty  breath. 

Comes  a  whisper  of  life,  that  is  rosy. 
And  now  a  fond  joy  lingereth — 

She  has  passed,  through  the  portals  of  nmdnight, 
From  out  the  cold  shadows  of  death. 

Then  rejoice!  let  us  welcome  the  new  love— 
The  virginal  New  Year,  so  fair— 

The  bright  spirit  of  joy  and  contentment. 
That  thrills  the  glad  world  everywhere. 

And,  sweet,  lures  our  thoughts,  far  down  the  fu- 
ture. 
On  her  lips,  God's  message  and  prayer! 


70 


A  SONG  OF  THE  END. 

A  ceaseless  striving  on  the  way, 
A  love-crowned  longing  day  by  day, 
A  burst  of  laughter,  set  in  tears. 
The  mem'ry  of  a  few  short  years ; 
A  gleam  of  sunshine,  in  the  morn, 
To  cheer  the  weary  heart,  forlorn, 
A  shade  of  sorrow,  in  between. 
To  cloud  the  brow  of  Hope,  serene; 
A  birth,  bright  as  the  buds  of  May, 
A  grave,  a  dear  one  laid  away — 
The  many  heartaches  in  the  strife, 
A  smile — a  tear — and  this  is  life. 

But  life  is  more.    The  love  of  God 
Lights  sweet,  with  hope,  the  path  we  trod 
And,  though  dark  shadows  deep  may  frown. 
Around  life's  cross — they  hide  the  crown. 

AMBITION. 

A  youth  scales  the  heights  of  life's,  steep,  moun- 
tain land, 
The  smile  on  his  red  cheeks  is  saddened  by 
fear; 
He  longs  for  the  day,  when  alone  he  will  stand 
And  view,  from  the  mountain-top,  his  bright 
career. 
And  onward,  still  higher,  he  speeds  through  the 
days. 
His  progress  is  slow,  yet  his  heart  is  a-ilame 
With  burning  hopes  glowing,  that  brighten  the 
rays 
Of  mountain-lights,  gleaming  with  Honor  and 
Fame. 


J 


An  old  man,  low-bending;,  has  scaled  the  dull 
heights. 
His  soft,  silv'ry  locks  hide  the  wrinkles  of  years 
And   Age  has   won  him   all   Fame's,   dazzling, 
bright  lights 
But  he  cannot  see  them — he's  blinded  by  tears. 
An  old  man  lies  dead  on  the  lone,   mountain 
height — 
He  died  without  wearing  the  fair  crown  of  his 
Fame 
But,  deep  in  the  heart  of  the  busy  world,  bright. 
His  works  will  be  cherished  and  honored  his 


IN  THE  CATHEDRAL. 

The  city's,  tempting  voice  sounds  far  outside 
These  sacred  walls ;  a  breath  of  tender  prayer 
Lingers  upon  the  incense-laden  air. 

Here,  hopes  have  dawned  and  bitter  tears  been 
dried; 

Despairing  sinners,  here,  have  knelt  and  sighed 
And  sued  their  (iod  for  mercy;    hearts,  laid 

bare 
By  sorrow  keen,  have  found  a  shelter  rare. 

In  these  gray  walls,  where  peace  and  love  abide. 

And,  as  I  kneel,  the  moon-lit  night  doth  steal 
Softly  around  the  cross-tipped,  altar's  height. 
To  crown  the  Christ's  head  with  her  gleams  of 
light 

And,  fresh,  upon  my  sin-stained  .soul,  I  feel 
The  touch  of  God's,  pure  finger  in  the  night 

And  lips  give  vent  to  joys,  that  thoughts  conceal. 


72 


tr~\ 


LIFE. 

Man's  life,  alas,  is  but  a  game 

Between  his  soul  and  sin ; 
The  world  is  more  than  emptiness, 

In  which  to  grovel  in. 

In  letters  bright,  of  shining  gold, 
God  writes  good  acts,  I  know — 

The  prayers,  the  deeds  of  mercy,  love, 
With  manliness  a-glow. 

The  bad,  alas,  an  angel-hand 

Marks  darkly  on  his  soul 
And,  gone  fore'er,  those  treasures  rare. 

Sin  slyly  from  him  stole. 

Each  time,  he  does  a  goodly  act 

God's  smile  is  full  of  cheer ; 
Each  time,  the  pale  hand  writes  the  sin, 

The  angels  shed  a  tear. 


THE  DAWN. 

We  know  not  when  'twill  be  but  Death,  one  day, 
Will  come,  like  some  black  thief,  in  gloomy 

night. 
And  close  our  eyes  forever,  'gainst  the  light 

Of  sun  and  moon  and  stars,  then  steal  away, 

While  swift  our  soul  speeds,  from  her  house  of 
clay. 
To  meet  the  Saviour's  face,  so  tender,  bright. 
Waiting  her  sentence  after  life's,  drear  fight — 

Hell's  crown  of  thorns  or  Heaven's  wreath  of  bay. 


73 


r>  .,!,.»  i,  life  that  we  should  thus  forget 
°ffi<^^fu  Drwn. That  waits  beyond  the  gloom 
ToUwt  our  souls,  while  in  the  «>«.»<»  °mb 

We  tu«  to  earth?    Why  -^XZ^^<^    ' 
Tfci.«  ii  a  life,  that  crowns  Sm  s  battle  won— 

A  lif"  o   rest  in  far-off.  flowing  n^'. 

Where  angels  sing  Love-^ymns.  through  end- 

Where'^ChS'the   Light-the   soul's,   eternal 
sun. 

HEIM— LIED. 

H»<1  T  the  lisht  wings  of  yon,  chirping  bird, 
I%y,  for^miles^rough  the  tWck  ether-space, 
To  rest  mv  lonely  heart,  in  that  bright  pla«, 
Where?  firTty^ne'ears  life's  melodies  hadheard 
And  dream  gray  dreams  of  peace  and  hope  de 

And's^t^gain.  my  childhood's,  pure,  white 

Glowtng'with  promise,  clothed  in  angel-grace, 
Re?ie:in|  gladjhe  pict"-  ^-e  ^^  bluned^ 

The  ™ms,  that  blossomed  forth  rich  after- 

Ahi  hadTwines  I'd  break  the  chains  that  cling 
^  Atout  IJSi  and  fly,  'nea*  other  moons. 
Into  thy  arms,  beloved-still  thy  kmg. 


74 


A  MAY  SONG. 

When  trees  of  spring  are  frosted  o'er 

With  blossoms  white  as  snow. 
And  robins  sound  their  morning  calls 

In  meadow-fidds  below, 
O  heart  of  mine!  the  fonder  shines 

The  dawning  fight  of  day 
And  brighter  glows  the  world,  beneath 

The  virgin  smile  of  May. 

0  May !  I  love  thy  breezes  mild, 
That  sweep  up  from  the  seas ; 

1  love  thy  fields  of  em'rald  green. 

Their  pure  anemones. 
Thou  bringest  back  the  beaming  smiles, 

Joy's  lustre  to  mine  eyes — 
O  life  I   O  love!   Thou'rt  sweeter  far, 

When  kissed  by  sunny  skies. 

A  FADED  PICTURE. 

Within  its  little  frame,  so  old  and  rare, 

Upon  the  wall,  it's  hung  for  nsany  years— 

Those  ruby  lips,  sweet,  folded  in  glad  prayer, 
And  soft,  blue  eyes,  that  knew  no  bittCT  tears. 

That  tender  face,  lit  up  by  God's,  pure  smiles. 
Glows  fresh,  from  out  its  canvas,  faded,  worn. 

So  spirit-like,  to  bless  life's  afterwhiles 
And  cheer  my  throbbing  heart,  oppressed,  for- 
lorn. 

O  picture  of  my  childhood's,  golden  day ! 

The  smart,  white  gown,  decked  in  its  yards  of 
lace, 

75 


I 


The  blushing  cheeks,  red  u  the  twilight-M»y, 
The IJlst^ow.  bright  in  thy  dear.  .ngel-r«:e. 

Ah.  faded  picturel  I  have  loved  thee  well. 

Through  all  the  day.  of  gloom  «nd '"n^  »^«» 
And  prized  thee  much,  though  no  famed  Raphael 

Parted  the  love-gleam.,  in  thy  baby-eye.. 

IN  A  DREAM. 

I  watched  the  ship.  Mil  out  into  the  deep 
And,  longing.  iJazed.  while  foam-wave,  danced 

And,  s^n,  the  noiMS  lulled  me  fast  to  sleep 
And,  in  i    ream,  I  wiled  a  sunny  «a. 

It.  shorr   .  ere  bright.    Ahl  I  had  known  them 

And!'o'fr  the  Past,  in  thought,  I  sailed  alone; 
The  lismng  breezes  sang  a  gentle  song 
And  wtopered  love-words,  in  an  undertone. 

Ahl  I  was  happy,  as  I  sailed  that  day; 

I  met  old  faces.    Time  cannot  destroy 
Their  fond,  sweet  smile,  the  dreams  of  one.  fair 

And^^  was  the  ship,  that  brought  me  joy. 


76 


THE  CRY  OF  MOTHERHOOD. 

What  have  I  done,  that  Thou  shouldst  pierce  my 
breast 

With  thii  new  grief ?   O  God  of  pity!    Spare 

This  little  babe— this  angel  I  do  not  tear 
Life's  string — 'tis  breaking  fast — but  let  him  rest 
In  my  strong  arms,  his  little  heart,  close-pressed 

To  mine  I  O  God  of  mercy!  hear  my  prayer. 

Floating  upon  the  night-wings,black  and  bare! 
Lord!  let  him  live— he  knows  my  voice,  the  best! 
Then,  someday,  I  will  teach  his  lips,  so  red. 

To  sing  Thy  praises;  should'st  Thou  take  his 
life, 
'Twould  break  my  heart.   'Tis  all  that  I  possess 

"This  baby-love  of  his — all  else  is  dead. 
Ah  I  Thou  wilt,  spare  him  Lord?    Then,  life's, 
fierce  strife 

Still,  holds,  for  me,  a  sweetness,  I  confess. 

THE  SONGS  OF  LONG  AGO. 

0  the  songs  of  other  days! 

Sing  them  softly— sing  their  praise; 
Sing  them  sweetly,  while  their  numbers  swell  in 
purest  harmony; 
Tune  the  harp  of  youthful  years 

1  have  kissed  it  with  my  tears  I 

And  let  the  wings  of  Memory  bear  its  melodies 
to  mel 

O  the  songs — the  rippling  rhymes! 
How  they  speak  of  happy  times! 
How  their  echo  comes  a-floating  down  the  days 
at  long  ago! 


77 


I 


^ 


Twas.  when  the  robin's  trill 
WelcomcU  daylight  on  the  hill, 
That  the  sunbeams,  softly  shining,  set  my  path 
with  love  aglow. 

In  the  songs  of  long  ago. 
Let  your  merry  voices  flow; 
Ut  their  melodies,  so  mirthful,  fUl  the  corridors 
of  Timel  ,   .         .    , 

Sing  them  softly!   Sing  their  praise! 
Cherished  songs  of  other  days—  ^ 

They  are  fraught  with  deepest  meaning-there  s 
a  story  in  each  rhyme. 

A  NOVEMBER  THOUGHT. 

How  sad  the  peal,  that  rings  high  o'er  the  trees 
And  bids  our  thoughts  be  still !    How  sad  the 

to"  ^  f 

That  from  yon  belfry  steals!    Some  weary  soul 
Is  gone  to  rest,  and,  soft,  the  morning  breeze 
Sighs  deeply,  'neath  the  mournful  sounds,  that 
steal  , 

And  fill  our  hearts  with  sorrow  s  note,  so  sad. 
V/e  muse  and  dream  and  happy  thoughts,  so 
glad, 
I-roni  us  have  flown  and,  deep,  our  hearts  now 

feel. 
That  some  day,  too,  yon,  tolling  bell  will  ring 
.Mas !  for  us ;  e'en  now  its  throbbing  breath 
Doth  fill  our  weary  souls— yet  doth  it  bring 
With  it  remorse— for,  though  we  sleep  in  death, 
Not  it,  the  end  of  all.    O  soul  I    Be  brave  I 
Thy  trust  in  God!  There's  life,  beyond  the  grave. 


A  PRAYER  FOR  TO-DAY. 

O,  Thou,  foreseeing  One,  mighty  and  great ! 
Give  us  strong  men,  in  these  dark,  stormy  days. 
While  Lust  and  Greed  their  voices,  grim,  up- 
raise 

To  busy  throngs,  that  in  life's  market  wait ! 

Give  us  strong  men,  who  snap  their  thumbs  at 
fate; 
Men,  whose  pure  hearts  with  virtue  are  ablaze 
To  do  the  gcnd,  that  lies  in  open  ways. 

While  Poverty  stands  beggar,  at  Earth's  gate ! 

Give  us  strong  men  with  lofty,  noble  minds ; 
Strong  voices,  that  resound  above  the  din 
Of  strife ;  white  souls,  in  which  to  sunshine  in ; 

Strong  hearts,  wherein  glad  Justice  ever  finds 

Bright  dawns  of  hope  and  cloistered  aisles,  so 
gray. 

Where  tired  spirits  love  to  tread,  for  aye. 

THEIR  DEP.\RTED  PRIEST. 

They  loved  him  for  his  saintly  smile, 

That  dried  the  sinner's  tear ; 
They  loved  him  for  the  kindly  word. 

So  full  of  hope  and  cheer. 
They  loved  him  for  the  soothing  voice. 

That  bade  all  gloom  depart 
And  for  the  thoughts  of  mercy,  sweet. 

Imprinted  on  his  heart. 

They  loved  him  for  the  life  he  led, 

The  life  of  priest  and  saint ; 
'Twas  pure  as  morning's  lily,  fair. 

Yea,  free  from  worldly  taint. 


79 


•waocopr  ttsomrioN  riST  chart 

{ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


A  APPLIED  IIVHGE     Inc 

^K  '6S3  East  Main  Slrecl 

ERA  RocMMUr.  rtan  York        1*609       USA 

^S  (716)   *a3  -  0300  -  Phon. 

^B  (716)  2Sa-  S9S9  -Fai 


I 


His  voice  was  lilce  a  silver  bell, 

Amongst  the  city's  din; 
He  called  the  reckless,  straying  ones. 

From  paths  of  woe  and  sin. 

He  led  them  to  a  brighter  land 
To  dreams  of  bliss,  afar;  

He  led  them,  through  the  darkmng  gloom. 
Like  ev'ning's,  sombre  star. 

He  was  their  priest;  his  hfe  was  pure. 
With  sanctity  aglow. 

He  taught  them  virtue,  mercy,  hope- 
Thus,  why  they  loved  him  so. 

A  SONG  OF  THE  HILLS. 

Out  on  the  green  hills  the  cool  winds  are  blowing. 
The  roses  are  blushing  and  drymg  their  tears ; 
The  morning's,  gay  harp  is  """'i'"  °  ^i^S^n*' 
And  lo,  through  the  shadows,  the  dayhght  ap- 
pears. 
Then  away  to  the  hills,  where  the  bobolink,  sing- 
Cheer"s^on  the  sweet  voice  of  the  murmuring 
The  hunteV's,  clear  call,  o'er  the  willows,  is  ring- 
O  heart !    Let's  away  to  the  sunny,  green  hills  I 

Then,  away  to  the  hills,  from  the  city's  gloom, 
sorrow. 

Away  to  the  hills,  where  the  buttercups  grow. 
And,  there,  let's  await  the  glad  joys  of  a  morrow, 

With  crimson  and  golden  tints,  softly  a-glow ! 


80 


A  SONG. 

O  t  sing  me  an  air — some  soft,  soothing  lay, 
While  sunbeams  are  kissing  the  roses  of  May, 
While  nature  is  smiling  and  joyous  in  song. 
And  music,  so  mirthful,  comes  floating  along. 
Comes  stealing  from  yon,  snovy,  blossom-kissed 

tree — 
Comes  singing  its  sweetness  for  you  and  for  me  t 

O !  Sing  me  the  song,  that  you  sang  long  ago, 
When  pleasure  unceasing  and  joy,   sweet,  did 

flow — 
How  youthful  the  singer  and  dear  the  song  then  I 
O  would  that  my  thoughts  could  recall  it  again, 

0  would  that,  again,  I  could  hear  thy  voice  sing 
That  lullaby  song,  o'er  a  cradle  in  spring! 

Since  then,  many  springs,  yea,  have  smiled  upon 

me. 
Yet  often  the  song's,  ringing,  glad  melody 
Comes  floating  to  me,  through  the  city's,  hot 

street 
And  lo !  comes  the  patter  of  two,  little  feet — 
And,  waiting  and  dreaming,  in  peace,  here, 

alcme, 

1  long  for  those  days,  that  were  and  have  flown. 


8i 


SUNRISE. 

O!  list  to  the  sweet  song,  the  May-birds  are  sing- 
ing 
Far  'cross  the  fresh  meadow,  the  grassy,  green 
lea!  .     . 

The  gray,  morning  mist,  'round  the  mountam  is 
swinging — 
The  sunbeams  are  dancing,  in  fanciful  glee. 

O!  list  to  the  splash  and  the  dash  of  tiie  fountain. 
That    bathes   the    old,    crumbled,  green    ivy- 
crowned  wall! 
O !  list  to  the  hunter's,  clear  voice,  on  the  moun- 
tain, 
O!  list  to  the  bobolink's,  cheery  bnght  call! 

Ol  see  the  bright  blossoms  on        nted  bough 
sleeping. 
There,  cradled  in  splendor,  beneath  the  warm 
slcicsl 
O!  see,  in  the  hedgeway,  the  violets  are  peeping. 
Gay,  up  to  the  sunshine,  in  soft,  bluish  eyes! 

O!  list  to  the  pure  song,  the  sweet  chimes  are 
singing. 
As  softly  it  steals,  through  the  high,  forest 
trees! 
O !  list  to  its  echo,  that  gladly  comes  ringing— 
O!  listen  my  heart— to  the  song  of  the  breeze! 


82 


A  TOAST. 

Here's  to  the  fair  lad,  so  bright, young  and  cheery. 
Whose  sweet,  dimpled  hands  leave  not  one  task 
undone ; 
Whose  blue,  sparkling  eyes  ne'er  look  sad  or 
weary. 
Whose  smile  is  as  bright  as  the  morn's,  golden 
sun! 

Here's  to  the  fair  lad,  so  joyous  and  merry. 
Whose  voice  softlv  sounds  like  a  song-bird's 
on  high. 

Whose  lips  are  as  red  as  the  dew-sprinkled  berry, 
Whose  heart-beat  is  calm  as  the  rill  winding 

Here's  to  the  fair  lad,  so  honest  and  truthful 
Who  climbs  life's,  steep  hill,  both  in  sunshine 
and  rain, 
Whose  heart  remains  kind  and  loving  and  cheer- 
ful. 
Whose  spirit  is  bright,  both  in  joy  and  in  pain ! 

Then  up  with  you,  lads!  Toil  on  and  don't  tarry! 

Start  down  at  the  bottom  and  mount  Life's, 
steep  hill ; 
Take  on  the  sweet  burden — all  vou  can  carry, 

And  on  to  the  goal,  with  an' iron-bound  will! 


83 


THE  PASSING  OF  LEO. 

Imperial  Rome  folds  her  gaunt,  ttembUng  hands, 
fe^deep  grief,  at  her  great  son's,  ow'V  »»«;• 
The  very  earth  stands  stricken  pale  with  fear. 

While  Rachel-cries  ring  out  in  ^^y 'f""'  „ .. 

And  Sorrow,  black-robed,  sadly,  mutely  stands 
Erect,  wild-eyed,  above  his  form  f^' 
With  heart,  too  sick,  to  summon  forth  a  tear, 

Weary  of  treading  Calv'ry's,  burning  sands. 

Lif7'7dark,  still  mght  has  brought  thee  perfect 

The  ro^-hued  twilight  saw  thy  work  was  done 

And  heard  Christ  call  thec-wel  -belovW  smi ! 

Great  Leo-crowned  with  winter's,  snow-white 

Thv  yeMs*reflect  the  glad,  eternal  Spring 
Thy  soul  enjoys,  now  palaced  with  the  King. 


84 


GOOD  NIGHTI 

Mother  I  good  night!  may  songs  of  love 
Befriend  thee,  when  the  shadows  creep, 

And  lead  thy  thoughts  to  God  above 
And  bless  thy  sleep! 

Good  night!  may  angels  bring  thee  rest 
While,  bright,  the  white  stars  serenade 

The  lonely  moon,  that  lights  the  breast 
Of  field  and  glade! 

Good  night!  and  may  bright  gleams  of  peace 
Kiss  soft  thy  burning  cheek's,  red  rose, 

And  may  they  bring  thee,  swift  release 
From  earthly  woes! 

Good  night !  and  may  God  bring  thee  cheer. 
Through  the  long  and  silent  hours. 

And  may  he  bring  no  sorrow  tear 
To  thorn  its  flow'rs! 

Good  night!  and,  when  on  wings  of  prayer 
Love's  accents  sweet,  so  tender,  mild, 

Float  from  thy  lips  to  kiss  the  air, 
Thinkof  thy  child! 


85 


